Merciful Blood
by Melismo
Summary: Alistair/Fem Cousland Pairing: What happens when a skilled and trained noblewoman, who is forced to kill others to survive, mourns the loss of each of her adversaries? A hopeful look at the Blight, with romance! Chap 1-10 revised.
1. Prologue

**Chapter 1:**  
**Prologue**

She cradled the enchanted dagger in her hand. Despite some dried, darkened blood on it, parts of the blade glimmered and refracted the fire's glow. There was actual human blood on this blade. A life, a soul, a person had died at her hand. Actually many people had died at her hand. How could a life end so quickly, so savagely? More importantly, how could she kill?

_It was simply self perseverance_, she reasoned. _If I had not battled Howe's guards then surely I would have been killed instead_. And her parents, now their souls gone, in the care of the Maker. Despite her anger at Howe's betrayal and the grievous loss of her parents, Sarah could not reason away the guilt, the pain, the shock of killing another person. It was horrifying to think that her hands, that her body, had the power to kill others.

"I wouldn't dwell on it too much, if I were you," Duncan announced, interrupting her thoughts. "You had little choice in leaving your parents."

She sighed. "Yes, I know. Only..." she trailed off, looked off into the dark horizon. She picked up a damp cloth and began cleaning the blood from her dagger. "Duncan, I've never killed anyone before. I fought for my life, for my mother's life, and yet I cannot get the faces of those men out of my mind. They are dead, they cease to be. At my hand, they...they..." She felt heat rising to her face, felt her eyes sting with tears. She gasped, but did no cry.

"Oh, child. You cannot blame yourself for such things. It is up to the Maker to decide their fate. Those men died because they were unjust, because they themselves wished you and your entire household dead. Do not blame yourself for their deaths. In a way it was their own doing."

"Yes, of course, you are right Duncan. I understand that they had to be killed. I just can't believe that I was the one to make that happen."

"As you know, My Lady, I came to the castle hoping for your recruitment into the Grey Wardens. You have great strength, speed, and wits. However, these qualities can be found in many fighters. I sought you also for your mercy."

"My mercy?"

"Yes, young one. While many consider mercy, or pity, a weakness, I find that it makes for a great leader. I had heard about your fighting abilities, of course, through news of tournaments in your castle, and these stories painted you as an ideal candidate for the Wardens. What cemented my opinion of you were the many correspondences you sent throughout the royal houses regarding the equal treatment of elves, commoners, and the like. It is rare to find such a lethal and caring combination in one individual."

"You knew about those? I, well, thank you, Duncan for your kind words."

"I only speak the truth. I must warn you, however that things will become more difficult in our travels. To end this Blight we must gather allies from any possible source. I trust that you are wise enough to see the importance of our mission?"

"Of course. I am sorry. I promise that I will do my best to serve the Grey Wardens. I swear."

"I have no doubt of that," he concluded serenely.

That was the last time she and Duncan truly spoke, aside from the painful joining and discussing the strategy at Ostagar. However, she was resolute to keep her promise to the senior Grey Warden. After all, now it was all up to her.


	2. Refugees

**Chapter 2  
Refugees**

_The first night after Lothering._

The time in town was relatively uneventful, the most exciting moments coming as they had just entered the town and a gang of profiteers tried to battle them. While Morrigan thought the group should have slain the bandits outright, Alistair supported Sarah's decision to scare off the men so that they may not return to terrorize any more refugees.

What was particularly troubling about their trip to Lothering was the overwhelming despair with which each refugee greeted them. Loghain's betrayal and abandonment for the sake of wielding and asserting his own power had led to this state of affairs. Sarah knew all of this, but it made the looks on their faces no easier to bear. Especially that boy, whose mother, no doubt killed by bears or bandits, would never return to him.

There was so much to do, so many things that had to happen before Sarah and her companions could even think about ending the Blight. And now, topping everything off was an impending civil war.

Sarah was thankful however, that she had companions. First her warhound, Dog (she had never been very creative with naming pets), was constantly at her side, fending off combatants in times of crisis, and offering a comforting bark in times of peace. Morrigan, for all of her brackish sarcasm, served as a voice of reason, offered a nice balance to the softheardedness of her other party members. Leliana, their newest "recruit" so to speak, while not as battle hardy as Sarah and her fellow Warden, was quick and agile. Sarah wasn't sure quite how to take the former sister's religious visions, but at least Leliana's heart was in the right place. Most recently, there was Sten, silently strong and rather distant. Sarah had yet to determine how he fit into their relatively tightly knit group.

Of course, there was Alistair, who was equal parts humor, strength, and compassion. In many ways he was much like Sarah, if a little goofier than most occasions warranted.

Sarah mused over these circumstances while cleaning the company's weaponry. It was more of a communal job among them, which suited Sarah fine. Morrigan, with only her staff and robes was not so much a part of the nightly rituals as the other three. But, all in all, the arrangements worked nicely. Leliana was skilled at cleaning clothes, robes, socks, and unmentionables. Not all of Leliana's past was known to her companions, but somewhere along the way, the devotee had acquired an uncanny ability to clean and freshen linens like few others had learned. Likewise, Alistair had a similar affinity for cleaning and repairing armor. Perhaps his days of training as a Templar had contributed to this. He had confided in Sarah that his rebellious tendencies in the chantry had often lead to him being assigned grunt work as punishment.

And Sarah, while not at all used to cleaning weaponry in her former life as a Cousland, a time that seemed more and more distant with each passing moment, learned quickly and used the work to think and reflect on the day's activities. She observed the wiping of blood from these lethal blades as a sort of silent mourning, a competitor's sportsmanlike homage to her dead foes. She was doing just that this evening when Alistair came to sit on the log next to her.

"I see you won't need the Darkspawn Blood removal kit for this lot," he surmised, offering her a half smile.

She chuckled briefly. "No, the soulless did not live to taint these blades today."

"What a way with words you have, my Lady."

"Alistair, I told you to stop calling me that. I am not a lady of the court any longer." Her voice went unusually cold.

He looked dejected. "Right, sorry." Then his face lit up. "Guess what's happening on the other side of came as we speak." His eyes were gleaming with mischievousness.

Sarah couldn't help smiling a bit. Camp antics were usually amusing.

"I believe that your fierce war hound has killed himself a hare, and is momentarily delivering it to our favorite apostate's tent." He unsuccessfully attempted to suppress a chuckle.

Sarah looked over to see Dog trotting happily over to Morrigan's tent. Conveniently, the witch was absent from her makeshift abode, probably collecting herbs and plants for various potions they would need in the coming days.

"That's going to be fun working out later," Sarah mused, smiling

Alistair laughed. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."

"I don't think you'll be able to. Morrigan's anything but quiet when something disagreeable happens to her things."

"Ha ha, yes. I realized that much today. She wasn't exactly helpful with that merchant or the angry farmer," he stated, attempting to be nonchalant. He reached forward and began sorting the cleaned weaponry into neat groups, having already finished his armor chores for the night.

Sarah turned Leliana's small dagger over in her hands. It was somewhat worse for the wear, mostly due to age instead of lack of care. She rested the blade on her lap and turned her head slightly toward her fellow Warden. She looked up at him sideways.

"You sense them coming, too, don't you?" she whispered.

"Oh," he whispered back. "The nightly court jesters and candle stick makers? Why, yes, they sent a message by way of dancing pigeon in ice skates. Quite delightful, isn't it?" he joked lightly.

She didn't laugh, but looked at him more sternly, her jaw firm and resolute, but her eyes full of concern and worry.

Slowly sitting down beside her, Alistair changed his tone, his voice deepened and was hushed. "Yes, it will be less than a few days before the darkspawn reach the village."

She turned back to the dagger. "I expected as much." She was quiet for a few moments, determined not to let her feelings overtake her.

Alistair, likewise was quiet, staring into the fire, his face stern as well, but determined. "You know, we did what we could for them, in Lothering." He turned to look at her again. "Most of them will be able to get out before, before..." he trailed off.

She straightened her spine and began polishing the blade, intently moving her hands over its sharp, cold steel. "Yes, you are right, of course. There is other work to be done, and we should move on. We don't have time to fix everyone's problems. Like Morrigan says, it's survival of the fittest."

He laughed dismissively and quietly. "Now when you start agreeing with Morrigan, I shall be worried." He paused, and began slowly. "I wish there were more we could do for them, too."

She sniffed reflexively, not realizing how close to tears she had been. She lay down the dagger on the ground in front of her, looking at it. Its power, when wielded even by the delicate hands of their resident bard, was a vital part of their makeshift military squad, an important element of protecting them and restoring order to the villages and places they visited in their travels.

Alistair reached over to pick up that dagger, and added to the organized piles beside him. "You know, before your joining, I asked Duncan about each of you recruits, and he said of the three you were the most promising. I asked him why, and he said, 'Like you, Alistair, this woman believes in justice, believes in life, believes in mercy. She, though as skilled with a blade as Daveth or Jory, holds more promise because of her leadership. I have no doubt that she will be a competent Warden, and a vital part of our mission to end the Blight.'"

"Duncan spoke to you about me?" Sarah asked, finally returning Alistair's gaze.

"Yes. He told me that whatever happened to him, that I should trust my instincts, and that I should trust you...that you and I were capable of more together than either of us realized."

There was more to this statement than Alistair was letting on, Sarah sensed, but she did not want to press him on it. So, she said nothing.

Alistair turned shifted to face her. He leaned in, intensely looking into her eyes, his expression full of resolute honesty. "I have come to trust you with my life. I know that we have tougher decisions ahead of us, that things will be more difficult in the coming weeks. But know this, I am here for a reason, as are you. Duncan believed in both of us so much-we must not let him down."

She looked at him and felt his concerned gaze wash over her, simultaneously a comfort and a promise.

Then, suddenly, he leaped up, his expression once again light and animated. "Ah, the Witch of the Wilds has returned. It is time for the evening's show to begin!"


	3. Alistair's First Confession

**Chapter 3  
Alistair's First Confession**

She and Sten could not have been more different. The formerly caged Qunari warrior, astute in strategy and combat, was silent, brooding, constantly assessing tactical situations and the abilities (or lack of them) in his "companions." Of particular worry was their leader. At each turn, without fail, she seemed to lose sight of their mission. From fetching swords for witless boys to relaying familial correspondences, Sarah, repeatedly took her party off track. Well, that's how Sten saw it anyway. _A military leader cannot get constantly sidetracked and still be effective_, he concluded.

But, he had to allow her this. When she took time to listen, which was more often than necessary, her conversations often lead to alliances, or at the very least, the second party was stirred in some way to see out their mission. Still, a leader could not continue to take such liberties and not expect to pay the price at some point.

The party quietly made its way to Redcliffe, each one lost in their own thoughts. Morrigan, though she did not see herself as an especially committed member of the group, was somewhat thankful for companionship aside from her mother. Though she did not often laugh or noticeably care, she was often favorably amused with the antics of the mish-mashed group.

Dog, constantly running ahead of the party, and then behind the party was always in search of either food or something interesting. Thus far, in no particular order, he had found a bit of slightly molded cheese, a soggy boot, and a strangely shaped piece of wood with runes on it. Soon, he would have to dig a hole for his treasures, but he was biding his time. This new Qunari fellow wasn't exactly trustworthy. Not yet, anyway.

Sarah led them all, well she and Alistair walked side by side, not speaking to each other, but every so often sharing looks of amusement when someone else became exasperated or outspoken about the traveling. When they were about three hours away from the famed city, however, Alistair began trailing behind the others, feigning a game of fetch with Dog or claiming that his boot had become unlaced yet again. As they neared the city, Sarah decided it was time for a much needed rest and a brief meal on the road. After the onslaught of bandits the few days before, she reasoned that taking rests before reaching their destination made the most sense. They never knew what awaited them. No time like the present, as Nan would say. Sarah ignored the stab in her chest when she thought of her beloved nanny.

She stopped them in a treeless, but grassy clearing just beside the road. Sten went on guard, claiming that humans stopped all to often to eat when there are Darkspawn to kill. So the remaining members worked together arranging lunch and keeping Dog from eating all the food in sight.

Sarah looked at her warhound wistfully._ I know exactly what you're going through, fellow warrior. I feel as if I could eat an entire forest worth of bear!_ It was strange how her appetite had changed since the joining. She was ravenous, usually for food, or sometimes for a good bout of swordplay with her dedicated but antsy Mabari. She grabbed as much bread and meat as she dared, not wanting to look greedy amongst her companions, and sat on the edge of the clearing. She finished the food quickly, surprised at how so much sustenance could barely whet her growing appetite.

Alistair bounded by her, running into the woods, followed by Dog. The templar returned quickly and plopped down beside her. He looked at her face and laughed heartily. "You've got a bit of...foodstuffs...well, all over your face, and your, um, your breastplate." He eyed her up and down casually.

She looked down quickly, and brushed crumbs and pieces of salted pork from her armor. "Uh...I thought we should eat quickly and be on our way."

"Surrrre," he said, leaning back onto his hands and stretching out his legs before him. "As if it didn't take Morrigan at least half an hour to pick through her food without eating much of it. I'm on to you, Grey Warden." He playfully wagged a finger in her face.

She glared at him without comment, her mouth trying not to turn into a smile, though her dancing eyes gave her away. "Silly boy," She choked.

"Aww, don't be so defensive," he replied. "I may be silly but I am no boy!" He sat up straight, sticking out his chest. He exhaled and leaned back again.

She stared at him ruefully. It always struck as strange, and a bit amusing how someone so irreverent and playful could almost without notice transform into a hardened warrior. Or even more vexing, that he would be laughing one second and discussing serious tactical measures the next.

He laughed slowly, "Uh, yeh, so...". He turned his head toward the forest beside them, then looked back at her. "Have you heard any other rumors about the Arl and such?"

She swallowed quickly, resolving that salted pork and peppered bread had perhaps not have been a wise combination. A little burp escaped her mouth. She quickly covered it with her hands, and instantly blushed when she caught Alistair grinning at her. She swallowed once and said, "Um, no, well not anymore than we already we know that is, nothing reliable anyhow."

"Right." He paused, his demeanor taking on one of those vexing changes, and he was suddenly serious as he surveyed the camp. He took a deep breath. "I probably should have told you sooner, but it never seemed like the right time."

"Hm?" she asked, eyeing the leftovers trying to calculate exactly how much food was left.

"Why do I get the feeling you aren't paying attention?"

"Oh, sorry." She shook her head, and looked at him. "You have my attention."

"Well, you remember I told about my mother? She was a serving girl in the castle?"

"Uh-huh, I remember something like that. And you also said that Arl Eamon raised you."

"Er, yes. Well, you see my mother was a serving girl in the castle. And Arl Eamon raised me because...because...my father was...King Maric."

She shook her head and looked at him quickly. "Do you mean to say that you are heir to the throne?"

"Oh, Maker, I hope not! The last thing I want is to be king."

"Well, we may not have an option," she said dismissively, contemplating all the implications and possibilities this new information birthed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"It just didn't seem like the right time, I guess. But, really, I suppose part of me liked you not knowing."

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that, it's just when people find out they start treating me differently. I don't want that, I just want to be Alistair, not king, Maker knows..."

She was quiet for a minute. It wasn't really her place to decide what Alistair should to do with his birthright. She stood up, as did he.

"Well," she mused, "I suppose this means we can't sacrifice you to the archdemon, then?" She smiled looking sideways at him. She lifted her hand to his shoulder, her face stern and serious, "If you swipe that last mutton chop off the table and give it to me, I'll keep this secret from the rest of our companions. Deal?"

He let out a breath, relieved. "Deal."

_I can't exactly picture Alistair a king, for Fade's sake he couldn't even lead this motley group. _But, he was all the things a king needed to be: skilled in battle, compassionate, resolute, and handsome. Wait, I mean skilled in battle, compassionate resolute_. Well, as Father told me once, it's those who are least willing to take power are those who would justly wield it_. Well, it was something to think about, at least. On top of everything else.

Alistair returned with the mutton. "I think Sten saw me. Those eyes, I'm telling you, creeeeepy."

She let out a muted laugh and nearly swallowed the chop whole. "Yum. Thank you for the princely delivery." And with that, she skipped once and called Dog back to the clearing. And they were off.


	4. The Boy

**Chapter 4  
The Boy**

_Redcliffe Castle._

Gasping suddenly, Sarah jumped out of her bed. She reached for her dagger but it wasn't under her pillow. She crouched on the floor beside the bed, looking for her boots, but they weren't there, either. She scrambled frantically in the dark room. As she fumbled, the images from her nightmare began to dissipate, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and finally awareness crept upon her. She realized she was safe in Redcliffe castle. It had only been a dream.

She sat on the edge of the bed and collected herself.

It was so strange, sitting in a bed chamber in Redcliffe castle. Though the Arl was still sick, much had occurred in the past few days. First, they had helped Redcliffe rid the village of undead corpses, then they had made a quick journey, with only a few hours' rest each night to the Circle of Magi, where they entered the Fade, saved the circle, and rescued the Arl's son from a demon. Now, they were taking a much needed rest in the safe castle. It was the first time she had slept in a bed since leaving Highever.

Yet, for all the safety the castle offered, she could not escape the now nightly dreams of the archdemon. Sometimes, thankfully, the dreams were easy to cope with. She would wake up, but keep her wits, and soon fall back to sleep. Other times, however, like tonight, the darkness, the screeches, would be so loud that they seemed to echo continuously. She could not go back to sleep on those nights, for rest became more fitful than alertness.

This particular dream was almost as alarming as the first time she dreamed of the archdemon. Of course then, it was without warning. But she remembered it well.

It was the first night of camp since the horrible battle at Ostagar. Morrigan was "traveling" with them, but was more of an accessory than a member of the group. She was careful to make a fire some ways off from Sarah and Alistair, and did not speak to them much after the evening meal.

Sarah wasn't that inclined to speaking very much either. She was in a constant state of shock. Though skilled with weapons due to training in her father's castle, Sarah never understood or embraced the bloodlust for war. She often found herself lost in the pangs of guilt and regret, though she tried to keep her face expressionless, so as not to welcome the inquiry of her companions. But when her dreams came, there was no where to hide.

Her first dream was frightenly powerful. The archdemon spoke to her, but not with words. Instead, it used some dark telekinetic ability that attempted to infiltrate her mind. She yelled in her dream, but her voice was faint against the encompassing darkness. She thrashed around violently on her bedroll, casting her pillow and blankets to the side.

Alistair, his bed adjacent to hers next to the fire, watched her struggle against the dream. He thought it best not to wake her; after all, the dream _had_ to abate eventually. He had been dreading the night when she would begin having dreams, knowing that they would be more intense for her than they had for him, since the Blight did not begin until after his joining.

Finally, she jerked awake, breathless, shaken, and rigid. She sat up. Her expression was frantic, eyes wide, looking for shapes in the darkness.

"You're all right," Alistair began slowly, rising from his bed. "You're safe." He took a few steps toward her and squatted beside her discarded pillow

Her head snapped to him, "What was that?" she rasped, wrapping her arms around her middle in an attempt to control her breathing.

"Well, one of the benefits of being a Grey Warden is being able to sense the Darkspawn, and consequently they can sense us," he explained as delicately as he knew how.

She seemed to calm down a little. She pressed her hands into her bedroll and kept her eyes locked onto his. "What was that dragon thing? The archdemon?"

Alistair scooped up her pillow and inched closer to her bed. "Yes, he was talking to his troops, so to speak, and we can hear, if not understand him, whenever he tries to communicate." He laid the pillow down on the bedroll and watched her closely.

Her body relaxed a little more, but she shook her head. "I don't think I can go back to sleep. Not after that."

"Well, eventually, you can learn to fight it, but Duncan said it's usually worse for those who join during a Blight."

"So this isn't going away any time soon?" she whispered.

"I'm afraid not," he replied evenly.

Then, to his surprise, she gripped one of his hands before he could slip away. "Thank you, Alistair. For telling me."

He sank onto the ground beside her, pulling up his knees. "I can sit up with you, if you wish," he offered tentatively.

She let go of his hand. "No, there's no need to do that. I'll be all right."

He rested his arms atop his knees. "It's the least I can do. When my dreams started I was surrounded by other Wardens and sleeping in a fortress. Not out here in the middle of no where with an apostate and a man you barely know."

"Well..." she was trying to think of a good reason to tell him that she was fine, but the idea of staring at the fire alone was suddenly very frightening. "Thank you," she said softly.

So, he sat up with her that night, and other nights as well. Although his dreams were not as intense as hers, he would always sense when she was struggling in sleep. Sometimes she would wake up, staring into the fire, trying to hide her fear. Alistair often felt responsible for her struggle. He could do nothing to prevent it, of course, but if Duncan were still alive, he would know how to better deal with the dreams.

Usually they were silent, sitting by the fire. Sometimes he would take her hand, remind her that she wasn't alone. She was often more frightened than she let on.

But in Redcliffe castle it was somehow different. She was entirely alone, in an unfamiliar home, in a darkened room. And the dream had been so close, had seemed so real that even glancing back at the bed made her shudder.

A light knock on her door made her jump and release a small squeal. Quickly regathering her wits, she put on a warm wool robe, and opened the door. Alistair was standing before her, dressed simply in pants and a long-sleeved shirt.

"Uh, sorry, I figured you were awake," he explained quickly. "I heard you screaming and I wanted to come check on you."

"You heard me screaming," she whispered, covering her mouth with her hands. "How loud was I? I hope I didn't wake anyone..."

"Oh, no, it's okay," he said hurriedly. "I'm in the room right next to. I switched with Leliana. I hope that doesn't sound too weird of me, it's just...well at camp it's easier to realize if...if you're having a dream or anything, and I don't want you to think that you're on your own when it comes to these sorts of things."

"It was the worst dream yet," she replied quietly, staring at the floor.

"Well, you know, I just wanted to say that if you need me don't hesitate to let me know. I mean, we're the only Grey Wardens of Ferelden left, so feel free to call in favors as needed," he offered a small chuckle.

She looked up to find Alistair's eyes watching her concernedly. Almost instantly, he flashed her a mischievous smile. "If you're interested," he began, "I know about seven ways to sneak into the castle larder."

As if on cue, her bottomless stomach growled. Alistair laughed, and to her surprise she found herself joining in his merriment. She resisted the odd temptation to hug him as she led her down the hallway.


	5. The Man

**Chapter 5  
The Man**

_We are a perfect fit_, Alistair mused to himself, leaning against a pillar outside Redcliffe Castle. He gazed at his leader, his thoughts churning away. _ Much like an intricate wall or walkway formed by small, but shapely stones, crafted with care and thoughtfulness, each element coming together perfectly, seamlessly, as if a divine hand had made it so._

That was how it worked between him and Sarah. While he was willing to let her take the lead, make the decisions, she had told him more than once that she trusted him more than the other companions, and wanted his opinion whenever he was willing to offer it. She had ways of finding the best in others, always working to foster unity and cohesion. He was often doubtful, but hopeful, seeing the possible negative and positive outcomes all at once, but not ever able to decide one way or the other. He offered her perspective, and she offered him decisiveness.

He recalled their recent trysts with Darkspawn and profiteering bandits. How she had arranged the party to fight as a unit, utilizing each person's skill, forcing them to rely on each other, to trust each other. Often the two of them moved closely together on the battlefield. He was a warrior, skilled at powerful attacks, able to withstand shield bashes and the heavy blows of dwarven axes. Contrastingly, she was quick, wielding a longsword and a dagger simultaneously, stealthily sweeping behind their enemies, targeting weak armor, slaying their foes precisely before they attempted to slay him. It was as if they just connected, almost without a thought.

He saw them connecting as Wardens. The dreams, his faint but persistent, hers imposing and frequent brought them together frequently. He had told himself (and her as well), that he thought it vital to company morale he sit up with her those long nights. _A leader must remain confident and consistent_, he reasoned. But lately, it had become less about building morale and more about spending time with her when the others were unaware of the conversations. Sometimes they talked about strategy, sometimes they talked about past lives, often they talked of nothing in particular.

Alistair didn't dare take more from those serene moments than was there. Although, he wanted to. _It is an advantageous balance_, he reasoned, _no more than that_. Yet, a deeper connection was never far from his mind. Even holding her hand those first few nights after her dreams had felt perfect. His coarse, rough, strong palm fitting so well with her equally strong but slender hand. Her dexterous fingers, which capable of twirling and twisting a dagger, catching a falling blade by the helm and quickly using it to slay an oncoming Darkspawn, wrapped so easily around his own.

It was not so hard for him to imagine other things fitting together as well, his arms around her waist, her head on his shoulder, her lips on his...He stopped short. He was only imagining things after all. Intricate alignments had their purpose, and who was he to misappropriate anything this perfect?

From beyond his pillar, she glanced at him and smiled, then looked away.

_She's just another Warden_, he told himself. But he went to talk to her anyway.


	6. The Amulet

**Chapter 6  
The Amulet**

Sarah stood in the courtyard of Redcliffe castle. The three days of rest was much needed, but she felt that they had been idle for too long. Relaxing in the castle, reading ancient texts, finding lost treasures in abandoned chests, sleeping in a real bed, with four posts and clean blankets. It was easy to get used to that comfort.

It would have been easy, so very easy, to give up and stay in that castle, to forget that she was a Grey Warden, to avoid the life-threatening quests and life-changing decisions. But she didn't have an option, not today. Duty called.

She watched her companions organize their inventory in leather packs and weapon cases. She was surprised, but above all, thankful that they were still with me. Even after everything, they were still willing to follow my lead. Sten, even, though he often disapproved of any side-roads or quests, continued to contribute any way he could. And Wynne, though she always seemed to have some sort of meddling opinion to offer, but she meant well. And, she had been the one to save Connor, Isolde, and all the others. Well, except for Arl Eamon.

Yes, Sarah was very lucky indeed.

"So do you really think these ashes exist?"

She turned around quickly to see that her fellow Warden had uncharacteristically arrived at her side without her noticing.

"I don't know..." she said honestly. "Stranger things have happened. We can at least check it out. If it turns out to be a myth, we can leave Denerim and search for the Dalish, without losing too much time. If it's true, then we may be able to save the Eamon." She looked at him, and saw that his face was rather stoic for once.

A lot depended on Arl Eamon, she knew. If anything, he was the one man with enough public support to pull the kingdom out of a civil war. But, Sarah had to admit she wanted to see the Arl better for Alistair's sake. Eamon had been like a father to him, and after Duncan and Ostagar, she wanted to give Alistair something to hope for.

"Ok, that sounds like a good plan," he murmured. "If we could save the Arl, so many things would change..."

"I know." Sarah fingered the amulet in her pocket. She had discovered it during her second day at Redcliffe, guessing that it was Alistair's mother's, but she asked Isolde, just to be sure.

Alistair stood beside her, tall and broad, a reassuring presence beside her. He was about a head taller than her, making her feel small by comparison. But despite his height and build, Alistair was also soft, even a bit naive. But he was dutiful and uncompromising, recognizing what tasks were before him, and willing to follow through, but not without considering what the consequences would be. No doubt, he questioned himself more than was necessary, and Sarah couldn't help thinking maybe it was because so many people had abandoned him in his life.

Hand still in her pocket, she clutched the amulet. "Alistair, it may not be the right time, but I have something for you."

His face lit up, and he joked, "Not another hare carcass from Dog, I hope."

She chuckled. "No, it's just this." Without opening her fist, she took the amulet out of her pocket and slipped into his hand.

He lifted it and examined it slowly, turning it over in his hand and tracing the outside of it with his fingers. "This is my mother's amulet," he whispered. "How did you get this? Where did you find it?"

"Oh, those things are a dime a dozen. I just thought it was cute," she said reflexively.

He looked at her, as if he couldn't tell if she were kidding. "I found it," she tried again, "in the Arl's study. He must have had it repaired for you."

He fingered the gem carefully, silent and thoughtful.

"Perhaps you mean more to him than you realize," she ventured.

Then, he looked down, meeting her gaze. His eyes were soft; he appeared simultaneously relieved and sad. Then, his ungloved hand was on her bare shoulder. His hand tightened in a squeeze. The simple gesture was warm and comforting. His touch ignited a tingle that ran down the length of her arm.

"Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I can't believe you remembered." He paused and shrugged. "I'm not used to people listen to me when I go on about things."

"Of course I remembered, Alistair, you're special to me-I mean it's important to company morale that we can rely each other, right?"

"Yes, of course," he replied. "Thank you." He turned away, and she was suddenly aware how empty she felt without him beside her.

_He's just another soldier_, she told herself. _No need to get attached._


	7. Broken Blade

**Chapter 7  
The Broken Blade**

It began as a long, but easy march to Denerim. They tried to avoid the darkspawn surge by traveling north, and then turning east just before reaching the Circle Tower docks. Sarah had asked Wynne if she wanted to return to the Circle, now that Connor had been cured, but Wynne wanted to stay, explaining that her "old bones" weren't meant to sit around knitting booties in a rocking chair. _Fair enough_, Sarah thought. She was happy to have her along.

About 50 miles north of Lothering, Sarah felt the uneasy tingle she was quickly becoming all to familiar with. She glanced at Alistair, and his nod confirmed that there were darkspawn nearby. Sarah surveyed her party. Sten and Dog were by far the strongest and the best at wielding strong attacks. Wynne and Leliana were ranged combatants, so Sarah couldn't send them into the fray. Morrigan with her shapeshifting and Alistair with his shield proficiency would fare well along with Sten and Dog. Sarah thought quickly and formulated a strategy.

"Ok, here's the plan," she said in an undertone, "There are Darkspawn nearby, and we must be careful. Wynne, you and Leliana find some high ground and take them out from above. I will lead the rest of you in. Wait for me to check for traps before you charge, I should be able to sneak past them without any noticing. Sten, you and Dog follow me, draw attention to yourselves so that Wynne and Leliana can get a few clear shots. Morrigan, Alistair, you two flank Sten and Dog after I've dismantled the traps."

Everyone nodded in agreement, and proceeded to carry out their orders. Wynne and Leliana found an incline and headed up the hill, quietly and quickly. As soon as Sarah spotted the first Hurlock, she motioned for the others to wait. She moved quickly in the shadows and silently disarmed two fire traps and three leg hold traps. Then, before she could be spotted, she ducked into the woods, and whistled to signal Sten and Dog to charge. The plan worked, and the darkspawn flooded the two warriors. Then, Morrigan transformed into a spider and quickly webbed five monsters. Alistair charged last, slaying the spiders Morrigan had trapped.

Hidden in the trees, Sarah watched the combat and looked for a way to enter the fray as stealthily as possible. With the Hurlocks swarming the warriors and Morrigan, she could easily take out a few darkspawn before being noticed. She began running for the clearing, but before she was out of the tree line, seven humongous black figures rushed her, each wearing heavy plate and wielding heavy weapons. She was surrounded, and there was no where to hide. She moved as quickly as possible, trying to outmaneuver the bulky hurlocks. But it wasn't quickly or deftly enough, and her hastened stabs and weapon sweeps met empty air or at best only brushed by an errant limb or war axe.

There was no way she could fight them on her own. Out of desperation, she shouted for her warhoud, and almost before the cry for help was out of her mouth, Dog was by her side, snarling and growling, pouncing and devouring the looming darkspawn. Sarah got her bearings, and though she was strangely fatigued, she helped Dog fight them off by sneaking behind the beasts and stabbing them in the backs as dog attacked from the front.

In the clearing, things went much better. Alistair kept any darkspawn from attacking Leliana and Wynne, while Sten and Morrigan managed the other darkspawn fairly quickly.

When it was apparent all of the darkspawn had been slain, the companions gathered in the clearing, where Sarah locked eyes with Alistair. "Is that it?" she asked, still a little breathless from her ambush.

"I think so," he said. "I don't sense any others around."

"Neither do I. I think we're safe." Sarah sheathed her weapons and tried to relax and regain her breath.

Suddenly, Leliana was running down from her incline, shouting. "Oh my dear! You are-oh my goodness! Are you all right?"

At first, Sarah couldn't make out who the bard was talking about. Everyone looked fine. She glanced at Alistair, whose face suddenly went white.

"Maker!" he exclaimed. "You're bleeding! A lot! Your armor- it's-Wynne!"

Alistair and everyone else looked at her, eyes wide and seemingly incredulous. Dog began whining and inched toward her. Finally, Sarah looked down. The right side of her armor, just above her hip, was hanging loosely. It was speckled with black blood, and a sliver of metal stuck out of her skin. Looking down she could barely believe it, but a darkspawn blade had found its way into her armor, and it had broken off in the side of her stomach.

How had she not realized when it happened? Perhaps she had been too worried about the others, or perhaps the adrenaline from the fight had kept the pain from settling in. But she was certainly wounded. The plates of her armor were detached, hanging uselessly at her waist. Her side gushed blood and the pink underside of her skin showed around the blade. She dimly remembered reading about poisons that caused numbness...maybe that's what had happened to her.

Suddenly, her legs gave out and she collapsed. Before she hit the ground, Alistair's arms caught her. She felt herself getting nauseous and woozy. The figures around her began to sway and grow blurry.

"Alistair...poison," she tried to say, but her voice was weak.

He laid her gently on the ground. By now, Leliana was there too, pulling out clothing and placing it under Sarah's head. Leliana's hands brushed the hair out of Sarah's face. Alistair took off his heavy gloves and gripped her hand tightly, murmuring "Oh Maker, oh Maker," over and over again.

When Sarah tried gasping for air, her throat made a gurgling noise, as if blocked off by some thick liquid. The poison or her own blood, she couldn't tell. Beside her, Alistair began to panic even more. His murmurs became shouts.

"Wynne!" he bellowed.

The healer was already there, kneeling on the other side of Sarah, eyeing the wound critically. Next to her, Morrigan mixed salves and poultices. Wynne began casting, assessing the damage and muttering spells to herself under her breath.

"I think she said it was poisoned," Alistair said desperately.

As the magic worked its way into her body, Sarah began to writhe on the ground, searching for air and relief from the pain.

"Focus on keeping her still, Alistair," Wynne ordered evenly.

Without a word, Alistair hovered over her, bracing his hands on her shoulders and looking down at her. "Be strong. We're going to fix you. Don't die on me."

Sarah's body fought his hold, flinching of its own accord although Sarah knew she had to be still to keep the blade from sinking further into her skin. But Alistair's hold was strong, and in a minute the struggle was over, and Sarah felt her body relax. Leliana's fingers ran through her hair, and Alistair's palms rested on her shoulders.

"Alistair," Wynne said, "help her drink this."

He nodded and took a draught of liquid from Wynne, touching it to Sarah's lips and pouring it into her mouth. Suddenly the nausea returned and it was all she could do to choke down the tonic.

"Come on," Alistair coaxed her, "all of it. Please."

She set her jaw, her determination bolstered by the fear apparent in his gaze. He poured the rest of the tonic into her mouth and in seconds, the nausea vanished, and the pain lessened. Sarah felt herself relaxing into oblivion.

"Yes, yes, go to sleep dear," Leliana whispered. "It'll slow the bleeding until we get you safe."

Sarah kept looking up at Alistair, and suddenly, she felt the tingling again. At the same moment, Alistair's eyes grew wide.

"You have to go," Sarah rasped. "Alistair...get them out of here..."

He shook his head. "I'll carry you." He looked back at Wynne. "She's stable, right?"

"Yes," Wynne said.

Sarah reached out her hand for Alistair's arm. "You can't carry me. You're the only one who can avoid the darkspawn now. You have to lead them, Alistair."

Another shadow loomed over them, and Sarah heard the deep, monotonous voice of Sten. "I'll carry you, human. Warden, lead us."

Before anyone could protest, Sten had Sarah in his arms and was moving quickly from the clearing.

"Be careful!" Alistair hissed.

"Your Warden is fine," Sten answered nodding to the path ahead. "We must move quickly."


	8. Panic

**Chapter 8**

**Panic**

Alistair had shut down, emotionally and mentally, but some ingrained part of his templar and Grey Warden training ordered everyone about camp. He sent Leliana and Morrigan for water and had them make dinner. He put Dog on patrol, and then he hovered over Wynne and the Qunari as they did what they could for their fallen leader.

Alistair was still trying to figure out how it had happened. The battle had seemed so easy, so fast. It was a grand success for those few seconds before Leliana came running down the hill and Sarah had collapsed in his arms.

He called himself an idiot more times than was necessary, and calculated and mentally recited every mistake he'd made in those few moments. He should never had let her go at it alone, forget the traps and stealth. Those skills would be of no use to her when the darkspawn could sense her anyhow. As the senior Warden, he should have thought of that. But he didn't. And now...he may not even get a chance to tell her he was sorry, never tell her how much she meant to him.

As he had held her in his arms, with her bleeding on his armor, he felt his world falling away, as if in that moment he'd lost all semblance of sanity, which explained his current state of mind. Even though Wynne had said she was stable, Alistair knew they had to wait, _he_ had to wait and hope she would wake up.

And the waiting only brought more fear. If she didn't wake up, he knew he'd be more lost than he'd ever been before.

As Alistair wandered around the camp, stumbling over packs and his own feet, he spotted Sten pitching a tent then moving to carry Sarah inside. Without a thought, Alistair stopped him.

"No, she likes sleeping under the stars. She hates sleeping in tents. I don't want her waking up and getting angry with us," he said desperately.

Sten and Wynne looked at each other, and Alistair knew he was acting like a fool, but he needed the reassurance of a routine. She'd sleep by the fire like she always did. And in the morning, she'd wake up, her hair disheveled, but she'd smile, and everything would be okay. He looked at Wynne, pleadingly, and finally the mage nodded to Sten. Alistair dragged her bedroll and blankets out of the tent, then arranged them by the fire.

Sten, showing grace beyond his warrior build and towering height, lowered Sarah onto the bedroll. Alistair was struck by how fragile she looked now, and soon realized it was because it was the first time he'd ever seen her out of her armor. And the clothes she wore seemed to swallow her.

She moaned the instant her body rested on the bedroll, and Wynne swiftly covered her with blankets.

Alistair heard Sarah's quiet discomfort give way to wavering gasps. Her breath didn't sound at all natural, instead she struggled for air with a wispy breath, exhaled shakily, and gasped again. He stared at her face, saw pain there, and felt a weight plummet in his stomach. He was certain she wouldn't make it through the night. When the sun came up and the fire died out, she wouldn't be with them anymore. She wouldn't smile at him and make everything okay.

"It's the poison Alistair. She has to work it out of her system. She'll fight it," Wynne said as she knelt by the bedroll.

Wordlessly, Alistair nodded and forced himself to step away. He paced between Sarah's bed and the fire, listening for the moment her breath would give out, so he could be there to say goodbye.


	9. Pain

**Chapter 9  
Pain**

She kept dreaming, of the archdemon, of her parents, of Alistair and the others. The images were fleeting and insignificant. Even in her sleep, she felt the sharp pain in her side, the uneasy throb as her body and Wynne's potions fought the poison. Awareness gradually crept upon her, she smelled the fire, the lingering scent of stew, the floral and herbal aroma of Wynne's salves. She felt the blankets, warm and heavy upon her. Her stomach growled, but it was a distant sound, a faraway sensation. Closer were the hands, one on her face, one on her arm.

A log on the fire popped and her eyes shot open.

"Oh, thank the Maker," Wynne murmured above her.

"Wynne?" she wheezed, her voice scratchy and hoarse. She felt the pain in her side, but it was faint.

"How do you feel?"

Sarah took a breath to answer, but before she could speak, another face hovered above her.

"You're awake," Alistair said, incredulous.

Wynne waved at him dismissively. "I told you she'd wake up. Go get her some water and some bread. The worst is over and she needs to work up her strength."

"How long have I been out?" Sarah asked, straining to watch Alistair walk away, but giving up as Wynne's hands pressed her back onto the bedroll.

"A little over a day."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Was it that bad?"

Wynne shook her head. "Not the wound itself. It was a clean slice, and the blade was small and sharp. I could repair most of the damage. It will be painful for some time, but the skin is healing nicely. The poison, however, was another matter, and it's taken a constant dosage of poultices and tonics to flush it out of your system."

Sarah was suddenly overcome with guilt. If she had been more careful, she would not have been hurt, and Wynne would not have had to go through so much to fix her.

"A constant dosage?" she asked. "Wynne, have you been up with me the whole time?"

Wynne nodded and covered a yawn with her hands. "I just needed you to wake up. I'm sure you feel exhausted, but the worst of the fight is over."

"Where is everyone else?"

"Sten's on watch, the others are sleeping..."

Alistair returned just then, carrying a waterskin and a piece of bread wrapped in cloth. He handed them to Wynne, and without looking at Sarah asked, "Can she sit up?"

Wynne nodded again. "Yes, Alistair."

"Right," he said.

Sarah took a deep breath, feeling weak but confident, and shifted on the bedroll. She scooted back, pressing against the blankets with her hands to leverage herself up. But in the next instant, Alistair's firm hold lifted her upright and leaned her against the log. His hands lingered on her shoulders, and he met her gaze.

"I'm glad you're alright," he said softly. "I thought that you wouldn't...I was afraid..." he took a deep breath. "I'm glad you're alright."

He took the bread and water from Wynne and handed them to Sarah. She reached for them and with renewed vigor drank and ate. The water was cooling and soothing, the bread full of flavor. She realized that she was so hungry, the simple nourishment was like a feast.

Wynne and Alistair both studied her expectantly.

She swallowed the last of the bread. "You two should really get some sleep." Then, she gave them what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Like Wynne had said, she did feel better. There was a dull, throbbing pain in her side, and she still felt weak, but she also felt her strength returning.

In response, Wynne patted Sarah's hand, and Alistair offered a small smile of his own. She saw relief and tiredness in both their eyes, but especially Alistair's.

He held her gaze as he said, "You go to bed, Wynne. I'll watch her and get you if anything changes."

To Sarah's surprise, Wynne didn't protest. "I am tired." She shuffled to her tent.

Sarah slowly folded up the cloth the bread had been in. "I'm sorry, Alistair. I should have been more careful," she said, staring at her hands.

"I," he said, then cleared his throat. "That is, _we_ were worried about you. All that matters now is that you're healing and that we're safe." He rested a hand on her shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. "Safe and sound."

Something in his voice made her melt inside, or perhaps it was the poison-induced weakness. Again, his hand lingered on her shoulder, and she felt a great comfort in the firmness and warmth of his touch.

"You should get back to sleep," he said. "Wynne told us that if—_when_ you woke up the first time that we could stop with the antidotes. You can just rest now. We'll all be here when you wake up," he finished with a smile. "We'd all be lost without you anyhow. The map's in your pack."

She smiled faintly at him, recognizing one of his puzzling mood changes and at the same time glad that he was somewhat happy again. She sank back onto the bedroll, nestling herself under the blankets and lying flat on her back. As she closed her eyes, she sensed Alistair moving beside her as he sat against the log. Then, for a brief moment she felt his hand on her hair, a gentle touch.

She mumbled something incoherent and fell to sleep.


	10. Relief

_AN: Alistair's POV this time. Also, see if you can spot the American Psycho quote. Hmm, does that reference warrant a rating change..? Anyway, thanks for the reviews and "alerts," they inspire me to keep writing. Suggestions are always appreciated as well :). Thanks for reading._

* * *

CHAPTER 9

Relief washed over me in an awesome wave. Her voice was hoarse, but it sounded like a sparrow's morning song, if you can stand the comparison. She was awake.

Wynne sent me on a few errands, I complied willingly. She was awake.

Water? Of course. Cheese sandwich? Right away. And then...

I set her down on the bedroll as gently as I could. Carefully, I covered her with the blankets. And then, I could barely hear it...

"Alistairdontleavestay..."she murmured. Then she was sleeping again. In and out, her breathing regular, rhythmic. No more staccato gasps for life.

_Did she want me to stay? Did she think I was leaving?_ I shook my head. _Silly lady._ I sat on the ground beside her bed. I relaxed, every muscle aching with exhaustion. From lack of sleep, from worry, from clenched fists and a furrowed brow, from angry steps and mental anguish. Finally, some relief: I saw the natural blush return to her cheeks, her eyes free from the fear I saw earlier that day, I was ok. She was ok.

I yawned. Just for a minute, I thought. I'll lie down for a minute. I lay on my back and shut my eyes. I dozed for a while, somehow keeping myself from falling into a deep sleep.

She groaned. I opened my eyes, the sky was still dark, and the camp was quiet. Great, on top of everything else, she was still having nightmares. I sat up, pulled my knees up to my chest and leaned forward. Why wouldn't they stop? Duncan would know exactly what to do, but I was helpless.

She rolled over, curled into a ball, her arms wrapped around her shoulders, like she were holding her heart in place. "Noooooo," she growled. Then, her eyes opened wide, but the fear was back. She looked at me, and her expression went soft.

"Did you feel that? Are you ok?" She reached for my hand and grabbed it quickly.

What was she talking about? She was the one hurt, not me. I didn't feel anything. "Everyone is fine. Nothing's here. You're safe."

With her other hand, she pushed the covers away, and sat up slowly. I moved to help her, but she said, "Don't. I'm fine." After a moment, she whispered, "I had a nightmare."

"I see."

"You didn't?"

"No, I haven't sensed anything since we made camp. Are you sure it was a Nightmare nightmare?"

She narrowed her eyes, paused. "Maybe it wasn't. I don't feel anything now, but the dream was so real...Anyway it's over now." She let go of my hand and pulled at her shirtsleeves.

"Did you want to talk about it?" I ventured.

She paused for a moment, then shook her head. "No, it's over. We're ok."

She looked down at her shirt and rolled her eyes.

It was the only time, aside from that night in Redcliffe, that I had ever seen her without her armor on. And this was different. Then, she had been in a robe, not this oversized blouse, with the neck so wide that the shirt was slumped off her left shoulder. If it was even possible, she looked stronger without the mail than with it. I saw the faint outline of her arm muscles, and the slight protrusion of her collarbone. It would be so easy to reach forward and wrap her into my arms, to welcome her arms to wrap around me..._Maker's breath, how can something be so strong and fragile at the same time?_

She looked down at her shirt and rolled her eyes. Had she caught me staring? Oh hope she didn't think that. I mean, I was staring, but it wasn't like that.

"Wynne thought it best you wear some 'breathable fabric,'" I explained quickly. So that your wound could heal faster. I tried to warn her, but she would have none of it."

She returned my smile.

I continued, "Our dwarf merchant friend over there," I explained, pointing to Boden's wagon, "gave us a discount on some leather armor. It's not what you're used to, I know, but there's a better smith in Denirrim who can make something nice from these Drake scales we salvaged in the tower."

"And you say you're not a leader," she smirked. "Everyone knows the first step to commanding an army is watching the change purse."

I chuckled. "Are you hungry? Do you need some more water?"

"Umm...no. I'm fine. Do you know how much time we have before dawn?"

_What a ridiculous question! Hi, I've just evaded death and the archdemon attacked my dreams. Do you have the time?_ I surveyed the night sky. "Well, based on the position of Andraste's arrow, we have about an hour before the sun starts to rise."

"Hm. I'm thinking that you and I, and maybe Dog, go into Denirrim alone tomorrow. We only need to do some cursory research on Brother Genitivi. There are templars and guards around, so we should be fine, I expect."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? Loghain's bound to have men out looking for us."

"Well, I thought it was a better idea than taking our entire retinue, complete with a giant, an apostate, and a chantry deserter who may or may not be crazy, with us into Ferelden's largest market district."

"Good point. As usual."

"Besides, should we run into trouble, Dog can come back here quickly and rally the troops."

"Provided he doesn't run into a rabbit patch. Yeck!"

She laughed. And laughed some more. And some more. "Ha ha, Alistair, I needed that." She patted my hand lightly, and she rested her fingers there for a moment. "Let's be off," she announced.

"Er, without breakfast?"

"You've been awake all night; you should have already eaten. Priorities, Alistair, priorities. Now, fetch my armor, Ser Templar."

I shrugged. She was in charge for a reason. "As you command, my lady--er--"

"Go."

Right. So that was that.

* * *

_*Author's end note: Oh, goodness the suspense is killing me. The rose scene is up next, though I'm not quite sure how to proceed with it, given that I've been switching points of view. Perhaps a two-part version, one from each side? And I suppose we should pick up Zev at some point...The love triangle seems to be a popular (i.e. well-liked) source of tension. Let me know what you think :)._


	11. Second Gift

**Chapter 11  
_Second Gift_**  
_*Third Person*_

* * *

When Wynne had said they were "just outside of Denirrim," it had been a slight exaggeration. More accurately, they were 10 miles away, not one or two, from the city. Sarah, Alistair, and Dog trudged down the road, the early morning mist just lifting from the ground, the chilled air damp, but refreshing.

Sarah slowed to a stop and took a deep breath. The cold air was a surprising welcome to her tired body. Something like this, something as simple as breathing was greatly undervalued by most people. Sarah was happy to be a free breather again. Her side still ached, but her stomach had settled, and her head was no longer spinning. Wynne had done good work.

They came to an aged road sign. Alistair examined it closely, and announced, "Well, there's only 5 miles left. What do you say we rest for a bit? You have to be tired." He eyed her slumped posture. She was leaning her torso obliquely to the right, trying to avoid expanding the muscles in her side. He almost laughed watching her pretend to walk upright. "Unless you're training yourself to walk sideways."

She smiled, "That obvious, huh?"

"Maybe just to me?" he offered, tilting his head to align with her body with a smirk on his face

She glared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter.

They found a fallen tree and sat near the roadside. Dog wove in and out of the path, running into the nearby woods, and returning intermittently to check on his two-footed friends.

Sarah opened her pack and dug around for a few moments before withdrawing a small satchel. After two hours of walking, it was time to change the bandage. She tried to remember what exactly Wynne had instructed before they left. There were two salves she was supposed to use, one for mending the skin, the other to fight infection. She set the satchel contents beside her, arranging them into neat piles. _Here we go_, she thought.

She untied the side seam of her leather armor, and carefully lifting the padding away from her injury. It was still rather sore, but bearable. She peeled away the bandage, wincing when the cold air hit her skin. Turning her head sideways, she admired Wynne's magical, angel hair-like stitches. The wound reached farther back than she remembered; she couldn't even see where the laceration ended.

Alistair sat still beside her, leaning forward on his knees and staring at the ground. He continued to lecture himself. First for letting her get hurt so easily, secondly for being so mean at the camp, and lastly for letting her convince him this was a good idea. It was just the three of them on the road. Who knows what could happen if something attacked them. Darkspwan this far north was unlikely, but certainly Loghain had put a price on their heads. His cronies could be lurking just around the corner.

"Alistair? Can you help me?"

He sat up. "What do you need?" He made a point to look straight ahead when he heard her rustling with her armor and the bandages. After all, he was a gentleman.

"I can't quite reach around here," she began. "I can't see what I'm doing well enough to change this bandage. Do you mind?" She lifted up some white cloth coated in a sticky balm and passed it to him.

"Of course. I mean, I'll try, I don't want to hurt you or anything."

"It's fine. I just need you to make sure the area is covered, that's all."

"Ok," he stood up and took the cloth from her hand. He sidestepped and crouched beside her. He had to admit, she was healing better than he expected. The area was still red in the center, and pink near the outside, but it was much better than yesterday.

"Just make sure you cover all of the stitches. You'll have to hold it in place for a minute, Wynne said, so that the salve can adhere the bandage to my skin.

"Right." He took a deep breath, cursing his coarse hands as the bandage stuck to his fingertips. He moved as gently as he could, carefully placing the bandage at the base of her wound.

She gasped and her muscles tensed.

"I-I-I'm sorry," he sputtered.

"No, it's okay, don't be sorry. You're doing fine. It's going to hurt no matter how careful you are."

He finally covered the whole wound, and he held his hand in place, as she directed. He looked at the ground, feeling her stomach expand and contract under his hand. _She's alive_, he kept reminding himself. He felt the warmth of her skin and sighed, the fear of almost losing her still very present in his mind.

She watched him, marveling at how he could consider this his fault. She was the one who had been foolish. Suddenly, her skin began to tickle as the salve seeped into her pores. She giggled lightly and winced once more. "Thanks. That should be fine for now," she said.

He removed his hand and the bandage stayed in place. He stood and moved to her other side as she laced her armor back into place.

Sitting down on the log once again, Alistair exhaled, and drew a deep breath. He slipped his hand under his armor, reaching into a pocket just under his breastplate. He withdrew a small leather pouch.

She turned toward him on the log, preparing to reassure him that he did a fine job.

Instead, he thrust the pouch at her and asked, "Do you know what this is?" He groaned inwardly. What kind of question was that? Why couldn't he just give her the damn thing without making a fool of himself!?

She looked at his hands, then his face, confused. She raised her eyebrows. "A rose?"

He suddenly realized his palms were sweaty. He wiped them on his legs, in turn. He stared at the flower in his hands, cursing the fact he'd ever looked at it in the first place. What if she refused it? What if she laughed at him? This had all been a terrible, stupid idea. They were fellow Wardens nothing more.

And yet, his mouth kept rambling, running away from him again. "I picked it in Lothering, as we were headed for the Imperial Highway. It was the only rose left on the landscape, I don't know how it was still living." He shrugged. His eyes flew up to meet hers, barely deciphering her expression before staring at the rose once again. She wasn't laughing. Yet. "I remembered thinking, 'How could something so beautiful still exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?'" He swallowed slowly and took another deep breath. He finally looked up, meeting her green eyes for the first time since her injury.

"And what did you plan to do with it?" she asked softly, the palms of her hands pressing firmly into the log beneath her.

For a moment, he lost his breath. His voice and thoughts escaped him. His eyes were glued to hers. What he saw there, he could not quite articulate, but for whatever reason, he was emboldened. He removed the rose from the pouch and held it in his hand. "I thought I might give it to you actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you."

She blinked, but held his gaze. What was he saying, exactly? "I remind you of a rose?"

He looked down and sighed. Why was this so difficult to say? "Here we are, amid all the violence, tragedy, and death..." he rambled, "And here you are so beautiful, and kind, despite everything we've been through."

"Alistair," she breathed, leaning slightly towards him. Did he just say she was beautiful? Surely not! Not her, the dismantled and injured mess sitting before him surely wasn't _beautiful._ "I don't know what to say," she managed, instinctively reaching out to take the rose from his hand.

Instantly, he folded his hands in his lap and stared at them. "Do you like it?" he asked quietly. "I mean, it was just a silly impulse, but..." he trailed off, looking into the distance before finally gathering the courage to look at her again. "Was it the wrong one?"

She was still speechless. She looked at the rose, tracing its contours with her fingers. Alistair unclasped his hands and braced them against his knees, waiting anxiously for a response. She slowly shook her head and returned his gaze. Then, before she even realized she had thought it, she pried one of his hands away from his knees and linked her fingers through it. She leaned her head towards his and planted a quick, frightened kiss on his cheek.

He blushed and smiled. "I'll take that as a 'no,' then." He lifted the fingers of his other hand to touch the patch of skin her lips had touched. She smiled shyly at him before turning her head away in embarrassment.

Dog returned that moment and they stood up together. Dropping his hand, she gathered her things, shoving the bandages and salves into her pack. Pausing, she decided to wrap the rose in a cloth bandage and slip it under her armor, tucking it into a pocket right over her pounding heart. She felt lighter than the fresh air filling her heaving lungs. Alistair thought that **_she _**was** _beautiful_!**


	12. The Honorable Flirt

CHAPTER 11

I couldn't believe that she was actually flirting with a Templar. An all-out oath-taking Templar. He walked out from a corner of the city wall, cornered us for killing King Cailin. I was ready to brandish my sword; he was really challenging us to a duel. Actually, he was challenging her, but it's not as if I would have let her go it alone, at least not without some protest.

And, yet, here she was, all eyelashes and giggles, telling him he was mistaken, that we were, in fact, _not_ Grey Wardens on a mission to stop the Blight. It worked, Maker bless her, it worked. He actually apologized and walked away.

She gripped my arm and leaned over, whispering, "Did I really just convince a Templar that we weren't Grey Wardens?"

I looked down at her, "Yes, I believe you did." Then, I noticed her discolored face. "Um, are you sure you're all right? You look a little flushed."

She let go of my arm and led us around the market circle. "I'm just...embarrassed, I guess. I've never flirted with anyone before. That was frightening."

I laughed. "You mean to tell me that you've never--um--as you put it, 'flirted' before? Don't ladies of the court do that constantly?"

"Not me," she sighed. "My nose was usually stuck in a book. Or I was sword fighting with Fergus, or being tested by Father on military strategy and decorum." Her face gathered that pained expression she'd been wearing just after we found out Duncan had died.

"Oh," I said. "Well, you're very good at it."

"Am I?" she mused. She stopped walking and turned towards me. Her face looked up with an expression of feigned innocence. "Me, good at something? Halt your slanderous words, Ser Templar. Your handsome face will get you nowhere with me."

She brushed her hand lightly across my forearm, and even through my scale gloves I felt a tiny electric charge pulse through my veins.

I frowned and looked forward. "Don't bat those eyelashes at me, young lady. I'm immune to your womanly charms."

"See," she shrugged, stepping back. "I'd better stick to combat tactics and picking locks."

_And capturing my heart_, I thought. "Right. Let's get going. Brother Genitivi's house should be right here."

We turned the corner, hearing the noisy commotion from the Gnawed Noble across the street. She knocked on the door, but no one answered. Then, true to her word, she quickly picked the lock, and we stepped in.

The foyer was unremarkable, but Sarah quickly walked towards a door in the back of the house.

"Wait!" someone shouted. "Don't touch that door!" A mage appeared from the kitchen, pointing an accusing finger in our direction.

"I'm looking for Brother Genitivi. I need to ask him about his research on the Urn of Sacred Ashes," she answered.

"Genitivi isn't here, he went on an expedition. Now I have to tell you to leave."

_Why is he being so confrontational?_

She read my mind, "I know there's something you're not telling me. Spit it out."

And with that, the man threw an electric bolt in our direction. Before I could even think, Sarah had whipped out her blades and ran to attack. I followed suit, and with in seconds the man lay dead at our feet.

Without a word, she opened the backdoor and began pilfering through papers on the desk and found a journal. She walked to the back of the room, and we saw the bloodied corpse of a young man lying in front of the closet.

"Probably Weylon," she murmured. She shoved the journal into my hands. "Read this while I look around."

Her voice was stern, but I didn't know quite why. I flipped to the last few entries and read. "Apparently, Genitivi thought the Ashes were somewhere near the village of Haven. That's just south of Orzamar. Perhaps that's where he went?"

"Maybe," she answered. "But someone is working very hard to make sure no one found that journal. We should hang on to it." She went through a chest on the floor, then stood up. "Let's go. We got what we came for."

I followed her back to the main room. Instead of leaving the house, she stooped by the freshly slain body. She didn't move for a few moments, and I stood near the door trying to figure out what she was up to.

"I'm sorry I killed you," she said. "We're just trying to save a very noble man, and you got in the way. I'm sure you were doing what you thought was right, but I'm doing what I think is right, too." She reached down and carefully arranged his cloak and shirt. "I pray the Maker guides your soul to peace."

I bowed my head slightly, but before I knew it, she stood up and left the house.

I followed.


	13. Dear Mother

CHAPTER 12

Dear Mother,

I know that it is silly for me to be writing you a letter, seeing as how you are now dead, but I was never much for writing in a journal. I want to someone what happened today, and and it's something I don't think Fergus or Father would really understand.

He gave me a rose this morning, Mother. Oh, it was an ordinary sort of rose, not nearly as spectacular as the ones I remember Father giving you for your anniversaries, but to me it was the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on. You see, since I've lost you and Father, and probably Fergus, Maker watch over him, and Duncan, and everyone else, Alistair has been the one good thing in all of this Blight mess. And he took the time to pick a rose, and by the looks of it had been waiting a while to give it to me.

Oh mother, it's hard to explain, even to you, even knowing that no one will ever read this. I have tried to be gentle, Mother, really, I have. I've tried being merciful, and just, and compassionate at every turn. But I must admit that I've failed. I have killed more men than I can count. Most of them deserved it, yes, but some did not. I have felt darkness creeping into my heart, more so with each passing day.

But that changes when I look at Alistair. He too knows the pain of losing a family. Though, perhaps it is worse for him because he never knew what it was like to belong anywhere. And yet, he is so kind and generous. More than once, Mother, I'll tell you, he has saved me from making a grievous mistake. A few weeks ago, in fact, I was on the verge of killing a child, but he urged me to stop and try to think of a better way. And we succeeded, though it was more difficult than I could have imagined. But it was worth it.

I don't know, Mother. The whole thing is very strange to me. It's as if Alistair and I are exactly the same, and completely different, all at once.

And there's this: I didn't want to tell you this, Mother, but I have to. Alistair and I killed an unarmed man today. I think he may have been a mage, probably an apostate, but he didn't have a staff. He was keeping us from finding some important information; I tried to discuss it with him. He was, I fear, too quick to listen, because in the middle of our conversation, he shouted and threw lightning bolts in our direction. I didn't think, Mother, I really didn't, I drew my weapons and charged. He was slain before I regained any sense of what had happened.

What scares me, though, is that it's probably not the last time something like this is going happen. Perhaps, Mother, if you and Father could ask the Maker to remind me to be good, to be kind, I will do better. It terrifies me to think that someday I may stop regretting the lives I take.

I can do that now, in these quiet moments by the campfire, as I recount the events of the day. I can remember and mourn the losses, pray to the Maker to watch over the souls of the dead. But when I'm in the fight, Mother, I do not care. I almost stop thinking.

Often, someone will be filled with such anger and contempt that I can visualize myself slitting their throat. Really, it's disgusting and vile, but honest. Even today, when Alistair and I went to meet his half-sister, she was filled with such unabashed anger and hatred that it was hard for me to keep my wits. At first, I was a little relieved to see him so hopeful that he might still have some family left. It didn't go very well, I'm afraid, since she was a complete bitch, only after his money. I felt so angry for Alistair. But, he found it in his heart to be kind. He gave her some money anyway, and vowed to help her later, if he could.

I wanted to pound the woman into the dirt floor.

Anyway, we're heading back to town tomorrow, Sergeant Kylon as actually requested our assistance to round up some local ruffians and quell the onslaught of back-road bandits. I know that I'm supposed to be fighting an archdemon and all, but it makes me happy to do some tangible good for now.

I'll always remain,

Your devoted daughter,

S. Cousland, the second to last Grey Warden in Ferelden

P.S. I kissed him on the cheek and it was the most terrifying moment of my life. Give me darkspawn any day, and I'll know exactly what to do, but a kind man like Alistair, and I'm clueless.

_Alistair sat on the other side of the campfire, watching the flames paint flickering shadows on her face. He was reminded of a long-forgotten poem, or sonnet perhaps. It said something about "wishing to be the hands so that I might touch her face." And he was reminded of a few inconsequential lines from an uneventful tragedy that spoke of lips meeting as hands do, something like that. And he thought of how her hand fit his perfectly, the same hand that was now wrapped around that swirling quill. And he thought of how she knew him better than anyone else he in his LIFE, ever. And he wished that he could tell her how angry he was at her for seeming so close and yet so far away, all at once. But he sighed, What would a teryn's daughter want to do with a rejected bastard prince, anyway?_ _He was no man for dramatic romance, he was awkwardly endearing Alistair, and that was that._


	14. Questionable Decisions

_AN: Sarah's POV. I've taken a few liberties with the dialogue here because I didn't write a transcript of the scene from the game and I thought some of the options were a little confining. Thanks for reading and a special thanks to those of you who have left reviews. They really help me continue writing!  
_

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CHAPTER 13

I had become distracted. However, that realization did not come upon me until I stood over the harried and wounded Antivan elf.

"Over here!" I shouted in reply to Alistair's call. "There's one still alive!"

My fellow Warden ran up to me, quickly followed by Dog. The others were foraging the corpses and chests nearby. Alistair and I eyed the failed assassin closely. He was wounded, but would live, I imagined, if left to his own devices.

I nudged the elf with my foot, and he stirred awake.

"Mmm...oh, I thought I'd wake up dead, or not at all as the case may be..." he trailed off.

"That can be remedied," I snarled. "Who are you? Who sent you?"

He took a deep breath. "My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends." He smiled and winked at me. _Who is this guy?_ I thought. "I am a member of the Antivan Crows. I was hired to kill a couple of Grey Wardens, at which, as you can see, I have sadly failed."

"Who hired you?"

"A rather taciturn fellow from the capital, Loghain, I think his name was."

"That bastard," I sneered under my breath. "So you're loyal to Loghain, then?"

"Oh no," the elf quickly answered. "I do not know what his quarrel with you is, nor do I particularly care. He hired the Crows, and now here I am."

"You came all the way from Antiva to kill a couple of Grey Wardens?"

"I was already in the area. What can I say? We Crows get around."

"How much did Loghain pay you?"

"Me? Nothing, but as I understand it, he paid the Crows quite handsomely."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Why not? I wasn't paid for silence. Not that I offered it, precisely..."

"Are you trying to get into my good graces? Tell me now why I should listen to you."

"Well, since I failed to kill you, my life is forfeit. That is how it works: When they find out I have failed, they kill me. But I like living, and you are the sort to give the Crows pause, so let me serve you instead."

"Why would I want to keep you around? So you can finish the job later?"

"I cannot return to the Crows, and the only way to live is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might come after me anyway, on principle, since I did not kill you the first time. Honestly I'd rather take my chances with you."

"What sort of help could you be?"

"I am skilled at many things, from fighting, to stealth, to picking locks. I could also warn you should the Crows try anything more...sophisticated, now that my attempts have failed. I could also stand around and look pretty, or if you prefer, warm your bed, fend off unwanted suitors, no?"

I heard Alistair shuffle beside me, and Dog growled at the supine elf.

I couldn't kill him outright, I knew that now looking at him. He had asked for mercy and surrendered, killing him would be wrong. I could leave him here to fend for himself, and then he could report to Loghain about what he had seen. So that wasn't really a good option, either. I sighed.

"Okay, I accept your offer."

"What!?" Alistair shouted. "We're taking the assassin with us now? Does that really seem like a good idea?"

He had a point, but I didn't know what to do. "Fine, Alistair, you kill him," I retorted, half-heartedly wishing that he would.

"No, I see your point."

I reached down and helped Zevran off the ground.

"I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you until such a time as you see fit to release me. On this I swear."

"Yeah, we'll see about that. Alistair, tie him up."

"Well, that makes a little more sense," Alistair conceded. "One reigned elf coming up."

"Hmm, I rather like the sound of that," Zevran mused. "Perhaps both of you could tie me up at once, no? More efficient?"

"No, I don't think so," I said shortly. I moved slowly to sit on a nearby rock.

Alistair roped Zevran's hands together rather tightly, and tied the other end of the rope around Dog's neck. "Let's see you try anything against a Mabari," Alistair muttered, and sat down beside me.

"Are you all right?" he whispered. "How's your wound?"

"I'm fine," I whispered back. "I'm sorry I got us into this mess. You were right to be worried about roadside attacks."

"Well, we're safe now, anyway," he said in a normal tone. "I say we head back to camp and rethink our strategy, now that we know Loghain has put a mark on our heads."

I didn't want to admit it, but reaching out a hand to this Zevran fellow made me feel a little bit better about killing the faux-Weylon earlier this week. I guess things have a way of balancing themselves out.

___

Back at camp, I put Dog on elf watch and began organizing our supplies. It had been five days since my injury and we were making for the mysterious village of Haven. According to Genitivi's research, it was most likely the resting place of Andraste's Ashes, if they even existed. The whole thing was a little too mythical for my liking, but if it would save Arl Eamon, then I was willing to give it a try.

Wynne had me on strict orders to wear armor as little as possible, and Alistair took me off the nightly watch list so that I could be well rested. I felt they were being a little over-zealous, but I had too much to think about to try to fight them on it. On the ground before me, lay what I thought was a good inventory for heading to the mountains. We had plenty of ice salve, poultices, wolf pelt coats and blankets, a few fire runes, and plenty of food. Well, plenty of food for 8 normal people, maybe not quite enough for 7 normal people and a ravenous Grey Warden (yours truly). Wynne had been keeping a careful watch on all the potions and herbs she needed to do her thing. I was happy to leave it up to her; despite my best efforts, I had never really mastered the art of chemistry, or understood magic all that much, despite being told it was a woman's duty to know about these things. Ah, how things change.

With our supplies organized and packed away again, I began sketching out a time line. _While saving the Arl is our first priority, there are many other things that need to be done quickly. We still have the elves and dwarves to recruit, as well as political unrest to quell, perhaps even a civil war to wage. If even a small part of the rumors we have heard on the road were to be trusted, Loghain has all but declared himself king. There is, however, a possible solution to that problem that I don't want to consider, in all honesty. But I know that Alistair's confession of being heir to the throne may play out before this Blight thing is over..._

When I thought of Alistair, I absentmindedly touched my shirt-pocket, where I had been keeping the rose he gave to me. It had been nearly a week since that morning on our way to Denirrim, and we hadn't really talked since then. I was still having dreams, actually one recurring dream, but for some reason he didn't wake up with me anymore. I assumed that maybe his giving me the rose was the end of it. He had been scared because I was wounded, he followed a "silly impulse," as he called it, and had since moved on. I suppose that I had expected some sort of pursuit to follow, that he would, I don't know, kiss me or something, but he didn't. If anything, he was even more distant. Even after returning to the camp with Zevran, Alistair had left again, claiming he was going to fish in the nearby lake.

It was all very vexing, and I tried not to think about it too much. There were too many other things going on to worry about courting my fellow Warden. In fact, it was kind of selfish and very silly to be thinking about something so frivolous when there were so many other things to take care of.

"How do you plan to stop the Blight?"

I looked up to see Sten's giant figure in front of me. I rose to answer his question, certain the Qunari was trying to bait me again.

"We have to fight the archdemon," I answered.

"And you think a flood of Darkspawn will let you kill it that easily?"

"No, Sten, that's why we're gathering an army to fight the Darkspawn."

"Does this army come from tiny villages at the foot of mountains?"

Oh, great, another indirect stab at my poor decision-making. "Perhaps," I said carefully, "we have gained allies from unlikely places before. After all, we found you in a cage."

He grunted. "I thought the Grey Wardens were skilled in strategy and battle. I do not see this here."

_Okay, reality check_. "I'm new to the Wardens, Sten."

"Well, then I shall consider the old tales I heard of your order misleading."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," I said tersely, and marched off. I was too angry to think. I had to get away before anyone saw me slay a Qunari. I knew he was nearly twice my size and could take me down easily, but the rage pulsing through my limbs was convincing me otherwise. I stalked to the edge of the clearing, and disappeared into the trees before I broke into a run. I had to escape, even if it was only for a few hours.


	15. The Mistake

_*Alistair*_

* * *

CHAPTER 14

I stumbled through the woods, making my way back to camp. I was a little tipsy. All it took was half a bottle of wine that I stole from Wynne's tent when she wasn't looking. Now here I was, just after nightfall, my feet trudging through the grass and moss, heading for my bedroll and hopefully a long night's sleep. I should have known better than to wander off with alcohol; I've never been known to hold my drink. And it was even worse tonight when I hadn't even bothered to eat supper.

I stopped on the path and looked up through a clearing in the trees. The full moon glowed in a hazy orange color and the stars flickered in the night sky. I was attempting to recount my academy astronomy lessons when something ran into me, and fell to the ground.

"Ow," a muffled voice muttered. I looked down and Sarah was sprawled on the forest floor. "What was that?" She sat up and looked around. "Alistair?"

"Yessssssss," I slurred, reaching down a hand to help her up.

She ignored it, and stood up quickly, brushing leaves and pine needles from her clothes. She looked up at me with a quizzical look, "Fishing?"

"In a sense..."

"You're drunk," she declared, taking a step back and eying the wine bottle in my hand.

I grinned, "Yep."

"So you ran off into the forest to drink yourself silly?"

"No, I ran off into the forest," I paused and lowered my voice, "to get away from you."

"Oh," she said softly. "I'll leave you alone then," and she started walking away.

"Don't go," I grabbed her arm and swung her around. She looked at me with questioning eyes. Oh, I could get lost in those swirling green orbs. "Now that you're here, I have something to tell you."

She twisted her arm from my grasp and took another step back. "Alistair, you're drunk and you don't know what you're saying. I'll just leave you alone and find another way back to camp."

My head was spinning, all of my thoughts undulating in the ebb and flow of my drunkenness. Her sweaty skin glistened in the moonlight, her matted brown hair disheveled. I was aware that I wasn't thinking clearly, that I should have apologized and stepped back, but her eyes drew me in, with the wine, the moonlight, and her gaze, I was hypnotized.

I took a quick step forward and wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her close. "I feel that when I'm old, I'll look at you and know the world was beautiful," I said, remembering the lines from an old song I heard in the chantry.*

She didn't move or say anything for a few seconds. "Alistair, let go!" she insisted.

I ignored her. She wasn't pushing me away, so I leaned down and kissed her sloppily. Her lips were soft and tasted of salty beef stew, while her warm breath smelled of mint leaves. I didn't kiss her for longer than a brief second before she squirmed out of my grasp and disappeared into the trees. I smiled stupidly and slumped onto the ground, unaware of how awful I would feel the next morning. I closed my eyes and lay down, the dried forest leaves crunching under my weight. I licked my lips, remembering her taste and scent. I smiled to myself and fell asleep beneath the stars.

* * *

_* lyrics from the Jimmy Eat World song "Polaris." You can listen to it here: .com/watch?v=5FuMietfzKE It seemed to tap into the kind of frenzied but centered intensity I imagined Alistair feeling in this chapter._


	16. The Consequences

_AN: Third person_

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_CHAPTER 15

The next morning was uneventful. Sten and Leliana prepared breakfast while the others packed up camp. Everyone kept a careful eye on their new companion, who seemed to be anything but treacherous, actually lecherous was more like it. Zevran, whether genuine or no, had attempted to endear himself to everyone at camp, even the large Qunari. He took a particular interest in the leader of the group, carefully commenting on her every move and expression.

"The men you meet in your travels," he began, "you must drive them wild with desire."

And later, "You eat quite a lot for such a slender lady, might I ask what your recreational activities entail? Surely, it is something rather strenuous for you to eat so heartily and keep that mesmerizing figure, no?"

Each time he was answered with a simple retort or silence. But it was no matter to him, the fun was in the asking.

Alistair hadn't returned to camp by the morning. Even though she knew exactly where he was, Sarah sent Dog to search for the warrior. After a few minutes of rustling among the trees, Dog returned with a sallow-faced Templar, whose hair was askew and eyes bloodshot.

_Serves him right_, Sarah thought to herself. Then she returned to the task at hand, examining the map to check their progress. They were about half-way to Haven, and should reach the southern shores of Lake Calenhad in the next few days. She had bartered with Boden to buy one of his pack ponies. It was an expensive transaction, but the advantages would be priceless. First, they could travel more quickly, if each of them had less to carry. Second, it freed everyone from cumbersome packs should they come upon another roadside attack. On that note, she began to rethink their fighting strategies, considering how having another blade-wielding rogue in their group would be a lot of help. And, if she could bring herself to trust the assassin, her trapping and stealth duties would be cut in half. Of course, Sarah enjoyed utilizing her roguish tactics on the battlefield, but often they kept her from maintaining a leader's perspective in the middle of action. Perhaps they could even adopt warrior/rogue/ranged tactics she, Morrigan, Alistair utilized on their way to Lothering.

The thought of standing next to Alistair again made her uneasy. While she had seen drunk men before, usually acting like buffoons, she had always excused herself from those compromising situations. This tactic was probably developed by Nan's frightening childhood tales in which the governess would relate the drunken antics of her father and uncles.

But, without realizing it, Sarah skipped over Alistair's drunken slurs and sloppy maneuvers, reliving the kiss in her mind. _My first kiss...it wasn't supposed to be like that, not some messy, uncontrollable embrace._ She remembered the feeling of his lips pressed against hers, the tangy taste of dried wine on his mouth. She was revolted and mesmerized all at once. Wasn't that what she wanted? For him to pursue her? _Not like that, not when he was out of his wits and out of control._

She was angry with him and felt not a little betrayed, and little aroused, despite how much she might deny it. The thought made her stomach turn over, fuzzy images of their bodies pressed together, but she was not sure what she should be imagining, and was not altogether comfortable with these thoughts creeping into her mind without her approval. Much like she was uncomfortable with Alistair's drunken embrace.

Other concerns required her attention, however, and she was thankful for the distractions.

"'Tis getting rather cold the farther west we travel, is it not?" Morrigan glided up to Sarah's side.

"It certainly is," Sarah answered. "I'm even considering that a tent may not be a bad idea in the coming nights."

"True. I was also thinking that I might need to wear something a bit more practical," Morrigan began. "Perchance do we have extra garments that I might wear?"

"Of course. What were you thinking? Armor is probably too heavy for you, although we have some double-insulated leather armor that would be relatively light. We also have Leliana's old chantry robe...but I don't suppose you'd be interested in that. Oh, of course, how about this?" Sarah jumped up with a wolf-pelt coat she had bought in Denirrim. It had a neat and clean construction, allowing for warmth and mobility. "Yes, I think this is perfect," Sarah concluded, handing the garment to the mage.

"You have my thanks," Morrigan answered bowing her head slightly.

Sarah caught Leliana's eyes and gestured for the archer to join her by the supplies. "I thought you might find these useful," Sarah explained, handing over a quiver of fire arrows. And she asked, "How are you finding everything, Leliana? Are you happy with us, do you still think you want to follow me?"

Leliana cocked her head to one side and answered, "Have I ever told you that I like the way you wear your hair?"

"My hair?"

"Yes, it suits you very well."

"Oh, it's just hair. But thanks."

"And to answer your question, it makes me feel happy to know that we are doing some good. I'm glad to be fighting the blight and to follow someone with so much concern for others." Leliana smiled easily.

"Thank you, Lil, you are a treasured friend. I'm glad you want to stay with us."

"Of course," the bard answered. "Can I ask you, though, where did you run off to last night?"

Sarah set her jaw, certain that Leliana had assumed she and Alistair had spent time alone in the woods.

"I was running away actually," Sarah answered honestly. "Sten questioned my leadership, not for the first time, I might add, and I got angry with him. So, I went for a run."

"I see...and Alistair, he was missing from camp too?"

Sarah paused for a moment to consider how she should answer. "I don't really know, I think he was fishing in the lake, but I didn't see him. I suppose he fell asleep out there."

"Yes, of course," Leliana rose with a grin on her face. "I'm sure."


	17. The Repairs

**Chapter 17  
The Repairs  
***Sarah's POV*  
_Revised Feb. 22, 2010_

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_I decided to pretend that nothing had happened. No dramatic brushes with death, no endearing exchanges by the roadside, and no sloppy kisses in the woods in the middle of the night. That's right, back to square one, two Grey Wardens and a rag tag group of contracted killers, apostates, and released prisoners. I wanted to distance myself as much as I could from my feelings for Alistair, which moved incessantly along a continuum of mild infatuation, resolute anger, and complete adoration. I was driving myself crazy living in that nutty wonderland.

I kept us focused on the small tasks at hand. We discussed strategy, marked walking routes, checked perimeters, ate our meals by the campfires, and headed west. Dog and I made one detour back to the shores of Lake Calenhad, leaving the rest of the party for a day's walk there and back. Alistair didn't even try to stop me, he was almost as quiet as Sten, making an occasional joke or quip, but never about me or to me, as far as I could tell.

I was going to Lake Calenhad because I had finally convinced Sten to tell me how he had ended up in the cage in Lothering. He, apparently, had lost his sword and went on a killing rampage. For reasons I couldn't quite understand, I felt that Sten's sword was more important to him than some double-runed blade was to me, so I wanted to seek it out. All I discovered by the lake, however, was that some scavenger had taken it, and had since left for Orzammar. Of course, this quest would have to take me from one end of Ferelden to the other.

I rejoined the others about an hour before dusk. We were about a half day's walk from Haven, I estimated. I was eating a dried bread and cold ham sandwich by my bedroll by the fire when Leliana told me that Alistair was working on the armor and asked for my help.

"Why does he need me?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant. When she had said Alistair asked for me, I felt a flutter of activity in my stomach and a bit of ire pulse through my limbs.

"Um, I'm not sure. Perhaps he wants to go over the inventory with you, to see what we can trade?"

"Ok, I'll go in a minute."

After I finished my supper, I found his tent and stepped in. Two lanterns were lit, illuminating the tent a great deal. He was sitting on the bedroll, the armor set in neat piles beside him. I stood by the tent flap, I was just short enough to stand in the center of the tent without hunching over

"Leliana mentioned you wanted to see me," I said flatly, folding my arms across my chest. I avoided looking at him, not trusting myself to control my reaction if I made eye contact, and not really sure what that reaction would be.

He fumbled with stacks of armor polish and cloths next to him, keeping his eyes on his hands. "Yes, thanks for coming. I--uh..."

I couldn't read his voice, it wasn't quite the light, lyrical tone he used when telling jokes, nor was it the calculated and removed rhythm he had used around me of late.

"Will you sit down?" he asked finally, gesturing to an empty spot on the bed. He glanced at me before averting his gaze once more.

I didn't know what to say or do. He was out of his armor, wearing simple trousers, shirt, and socks, probably smelly ones, making him appear more vulnerable than I was used to. I studied his profile, unable to keep myself from trying to read his expression. He seemed unsure of himself, his actions, his movements. His eyes kept flitting from one pile of armor to another. I moved as carefully as I could, some part of me not wanting to disrupt whatever state his mind was in, another part of me wanting to hold out my hand and ask him what was wrong. I sat down cross-legged across from him and folded my hands in my lap, clasping them together. I realized I was nervous and sweating, despite my calm exterior, Alistair's own nervousness seeming to capture me in its wake.

He finally slowed his wandering hands and reached beside him, picking up the armor I was wearing when I had been hurt so badly. He set it between us on the bedroll.

He glanced up to find me watching him intently. Our eyes met for a brief instance before he looked away. I blinked and turned my head slightly to the side.

"I was able to fix the plates," he began, running his hand along the edge of the armor. "But, I realized....well, this armor wasn't made for you, was it?"

It was a question I didn't expect. He looked at me again, as if sensing he had said something wrong. My eyes stung with tears. "No, it was my mother's," I whispered. I blinked furiously, trying not to cry as I stared at the armor in front of me.

"Oh." He acted as if he were going to take one of my hands, but before he reached my lap, he balled his hand into a fist and pulled it back to rest on the armor. "Well, I just noticed that it was made for someone...taller than you, and that it probably didn't fit you right, which could be one of the reasons it broke so easily last week. Well, that and the fact that you never took it off."

I brushed tears from my eyes and swallowed. But I couldn't stop the sobs as they mounted in my throat. "It was my mother's," I repeated. "I know it was foolish, but wearing it felt like she was still with me, still protecting me. I didn't want to take it off." I shook my head, wishing that I wasn't letting him see me like this, at the same time thankful it was him and not someone else.

"I see," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, you didn't know, it's not your fault," I tried to regain my composure, but before I could stop myself, everything came pouring out. "My parents, they died in Highever. I left them sitting on the larder floor, my father laying in a pool of his own blood, my mother resolved to protect him with her life. And then there was Duncan, insisting that we leave. Leave my parents. Can you believe it? And I listened to him, and my father said 'Pup, go.' so I did. And now...they're gone. I can't believe they're gone. I can't believe that I left them." I buried my face in my hands, letting my shirtsleeves soak up the tears on my cheeks.

He moved the armor to the side and draped a cloth over it, as if getting it out of sight would stop me from crying. "It's not your fault either," he said softly. "You had to get out, or else you would be gone, too. They saved your life."

I furiously wiped tears off my cheeks. "I know, but that doesn't make it any easier."

He inched closer to me, his eyes now glued to my face, as if he were trying to decide what to do. "But we have to move on, Sarah. Remember what you told me when I was so upset about Duncan? You said that if we're able to stop the Blight, then we can make his sacrifice worth it. Your parents' sacrifice has let you lead us to gather an army to save Ferelden. You can't let yourself feel guilty about that."

I sniffed, "You are right." I lifted my eyes to meet his concerned gaze. Instantly All the reasons I began liking Alistair came flooding back: his compassion, his kindness, the value he placed on each life, the concern he had for nearly everyone we met. "I just...I feel so lost sometimes....so alone," I sputtered.

"I know, and I haven't been much help lately, I'm sorry that I've lost my focus, that I've left everything up to you."

I sniffed and took a deep, shaky breath. I was about to protest before he continued.

He lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. "And I'm sorry about the other night, when I--I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry, it was out of place, and wrong of me to assume that it would be okay."

I stopped sniffing and wiped my cheeks once more. He was apologizing, finally. This was the Alistair I had been waiting for.

He slowly reached for my hand, and looked at me, as if he were waiting for approval. I opened my palm and he took it quickly, squeezing my fingers and rubbing his thumb gently on the outside of my hand. His touch was warm, comforting.

"Alistair, I just never expected something like that from you," I felt a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth, unable to rid myself of this minor distraction. That he was reaching to bridge the gap that had developed between us encouraged me. "Not that I didn't enjoy it," I blurted.

"What?" he asked softly. "You don't mind that I kissed you? I thought...I thought that you ran away because you were angry with me, and with good reason," he added.

I took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to tell him all the feelings that had been spinning in my head the past few weeks. "I was angry, I felt violated. But not because you kissed me, but because you were drunk and out of your mind. It didn't feel genuine, I guess. It was so out of character for you...I felt like you were trying to--Oh how do I say this? Go for a cheap thrill? You weren't the Alistair I've come to...trust." I exhaled slowly, certain that I sounded like a prude and uptight ninny.

Instead of snickering, as I expected, he shook his head regretfully. "Oh Maker. No, that wasn't it, that wasn't it at all." He went quiet and stared at the floor. "Yes, I was a drunken, bumbling idiot, but, you have me going out of my mind." He laughed. "I'm surprised you haven't noticed. I'm a complete fool around you."

"What do you mean?" I said slowly. "Have I done something to upset you?"

He shook his head, smiling, eyes closed. He took a deep breath, as his eyelids fluttered open. He reached his other hand up to my cheek, cupping it softly. I stared back into his eyes. Then in a voice solemn and serious, he spoke the words I realized I had been waiting for. "I have come to...care for you a great deal." He paused, as if waiting for a response, but I was dumbfounded. "I know it seems sudden," he continued quickly, dropping his hand, "but perhaps it's because we've just been through so much together, I don't know. But there it is." He shrugged and shook his head again. "I know it's not an excuse, but I went off drinking in the woods to try to get you out of my mind, and then there you were, first in my thoughts, and then in my arms..."

He shook his head once again, as if trying to shake his mistake from his memory. Finally, he looked up at me. "I guess, what I'm asking is, do you think that if you could ever forgive me...that you could...maybe...feel the same about me?"

I couldn't help myself, I grinned from ear to ear. I tried to stifle it, I tried to remind myself of all the reasons I hadn't spoken to him for the last week, but I couldn't remember any of them.

My silence seemed to torture him, although I thought my grin should have been enough reassurance.

He ran his hand across his brow. "I know. You're laughing at me, aren't you? I'm sorry I said anything," he mumbled, retracting both of his hands.

"No, Alistair," I said quickly. "Don't think that. I'm not laughing at you." I clasped his hand before he could pull it entirely away and squeezed it tightly. "What I mean to say is that...I think that I already do...care for you. A great deal."

He looked up with a wide grin. "Really?"

I nodded, still smiling.

He tentatively reached his hand for me cheek again. He paused in mid air, probing my face with his eyes. "Then, may I kiss you, without the wine, this time?"

I didn't answer him, and my smile faded. I braced my empty hand on his knee and leaned forward. I heard him take a small gasp as I drew closer. The hand on my cheek wandered into my hair. I closed my eyes just as my lips reached his. I pressed my mouth against his, quickly, and then pulled back. My cheeks grew hot, and I wondered if I had been too bold.

But his hand did not leave my hair, and he smiled, still cradling my head in his hand. "Very nice," he smirked slyly. "But you didn't answer my question."

"Yes," I whispered, staring into his eyes. They seemed to glisten with a confidence I'd never seen there before. He reached out his other hand to lift my chin slightly. As he leaned towards me, I felt a magical dance start in my belly, my lips tingled as they anticipated his touch. My eyes drifted closed as his mouth met mine. His movements were small, and gentle, as if he were touching a delicate flower. I reached my hand up and laced my fingers in his hair, my inexperience seeming to flee as he continued kissing me. He shifted closer, and his arms wandered around my back, pulling me against him. I copied his movements and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. Before I knew it, I was laying on his bedroll and he hovered above me, his lips still caressing mine, his hands gripping my waist.

Suddenly, I panicked and pressed my hands against his shoulders. He released his hold and sat up. "That was a bit more than a kiss," I mumbled, realizing I was hot and breathless.

"I-I-I'm sorry," he stammered, looking away.

"It's just that I've never..."

He glanced at me and raised one eyebrow.

"You know..." I blushed. "I've never..."

Then, to my surprise, he blushed as well. "Neither have I," he admitted.

"You haven't?" I asked, incredulous.

He smiled at me, "Well, the chantry doesn't exactly encourage that kind of...behavior."

"No, I suppose they don't."

"And, may I ask," he said sheepishly, "why haven't you? You're beautiful, and charming, surely you've had the chance..."

My eyes grew wide, and I blushed even more furiously.

"Oh, you don't have to answer, if you don't want," he said, looking away once more.

I took a deep breath. "Well, I was expected to remain...chaste until marriage, to save myself for my husband. Not that it matters now, considering." I sighed. "And, I suppose the rather idyllic--but honest--answer is that I never fell in love." I was suddenly embarrassed, admitting such things to him, confessing my inexperience in front of my fellow Grey Warden, by all accounts, my _senior_ Grey Warden.

He watched my face closely and began to smile again. "So...do you think, that is...should you find yourself ever...falling in love...that you would..."

"Oh, in a heartbeat," I blurted without thinking. My hands shot up to cover my mouth.

He laughed. Then, he laughed some more. "Good to know."

I gasped and dropped my hands. "And what is that supposed to mean, Ser Templar?" I spat.

He arched his eyebrow again. "Ser Templar? I like that," he chuckled. Then, he lowered his voice and met my admonishing glare. "I only meant that...well...to tell you that we are in agreement once more. And that, I would never expect anything more from you than you're willing to give," he finished solemnly before smirking again. "Unless you have cheese. Because I will take that right out of your hands, just so we're clear."

I laughed uncontrollably and found myself gripping his forearm with one of my hands."I am so glad that you're you," I said. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

He smirked and touched my cheek again. "Same here, though, if you didn't look so beautiful all the time, I wouldn't be too distracted and keep getting us lost."

"Ser Templar," I started batting my eyelashes and pouting, "don't start blaming me for your inability to read a map."

"Oh," he smiled, pulling me close to him, his stubble brushing the side of my cheek as he buried his face in my hair. Then he pulled away.

"You smell like Mabari," he declared, his face scrunched up.

I stood up, too giddy to keep sitting, feeling my legs twitch beneath me, gearing for another run through the forest. "I need someone to keep my tent warm at night."

"Hey!" he exclaimed in false surprise. His hand followed my arm down and clutched my fingers briefly before letting go.

"Thank you, Alistair," I said meekly. "For saying I'm beautiful."

"I meant every word," he paused. "Especially the bit about the cheese."

I rolled my eyes and left the tent before collapsing into another fit of giggles. Maker help me, I was floating through the air and falling in love.


	18. Second Confession

**Chapter 19**  
**Second Confession**_  
*Third person*_

* * *

"Cultists, bloody freaking cultists," Sarah spat, throwing the last of the group's supplies on the cabin floor. "Andraste's Ashes protected by a village of weirded out cultists. I wouldn't doubt it if they were all strung out on Lyrium. Seriously, it's one thing to be a cultist, and another to be a cultist who doesn't wear armor or fight with swords. Seriously? Seriously? It's ridiculous."

"It is fierce when it is angry," observed Shale from outside the house.

"Yes, it's an entertaining scene to watch, is it not?" mused Zevran from a chair next to the fuming Grey Warden.

She didn't answer them; she was angry, tired, and fed up with being cold. _But there is some worthwhile good in our situation_, she thought, touching the leather pouch of ashes in the pocket of her armor. _With any luck, these will help Eamon, at least_.

Alistair walked in and shut the door to the cabin, shaking snow from his boots and surveying the activities of each of his companions. He dumped some wood by the fireplace. "Is that everything, then?"

Leliana was quick to answer him. "Indeed, we have everything ready. Wynne and I will make dinner, an Orlesian special. But I can say no more." She scurried off to the kitchen, wearing some nice-looking but rather impractical blue satin shoes.

Sten was working on starting fires in the common room and in the stove, now that Alistair had returned with kindling. Morrigan was doing something in the corner of the cabin, muttering under her breath how dissatisfied she was with the accommodations. Spending the night in a confined space with all of these people wasn't exactly an ideal arrangement for her, but it was a safe choice for the group. Shale and Dog were outside keeping watch, though it was unlikely anyone would disturb the adventurers, given that they had slain nearly all of the inhabitants of the surrounding village the previous day.

Alistair was not entirely comfortable with the arrangement, although he conceded it was a practical one. Still, he eyed the Antivan elf with some concern, taking note of how the assassin followed Sarah with his gaze nearly everywhere she went. While he hoped his and Sarah's recent interludes, mainly kissing in the woods, would not become common knowledge among the party, he thought it forward, if not rude, of the elf to take such an interest in the female Warden, in his Warden, whether Zevran knew about the two of them or not.

But, if there was any comfort, it was that Sarah seemed oblivious to Zevran's leering eyes and all too frequent double entendres. Alistair rose from the fireplace, where he was attempting to coach Sten on starting a fire, but the taciturn Qunari ignored the templar's advice, instead relying on a tried and true Qunari method as it was explained in the ancient Qun.

Alistair caught himself staring at his fellow Warden, and not for the first time that day. He studied her profile and facial expressions, trying to read her thoughts, which usually eluded him. He marveled at her quick deliberate method of laying organizing supplies, even in frustration, her hands moving lithely through stacks of potions, linens, and cloths. Before he could realize it, he imagined her fingers wrapping themselves in his hair, her arms pulling him in for yet another longed-for embrace. Then, his mind wandered from imagining to remembering.

_Sarah stood before the altar, reading aloud its inscription: "To cross the thresh hold, cast aside all your worldly possessions." Before he knew it, Sarah was stripping her armor and clothes away. And, he could not help himself. He took in every inch of her exposed skin. She was more beautiful than he had imagined. His thoughts took on a life of their own, and he was suddenly swept away in fantasy. Her bare skin was pressed up against his. His hands were following her mesmerizing curves, his fingertips experiencing each and every part. Just as he was starting to take the image a bit further, he was stricken with a burning bolt grazing across his chest. He turned his head to find Wynne's staff pointing straight at him._

_"Alistair, Maker's breath! In Andraste's resting place, no less!" the mage exclaimed._

_Then, Alistair realized that his mouth was hanging open and that he was developing a tingling **in-ter-est** in his nether regions. He clamped his jaw shut and began reciting the Chant of Light under his breath. He watched Sarah disappear into the flames. She became a blur as she sprinted to the Urn and claimed her prize.  
_

Back in the cabin, Alistair shook his head and could stand it no longer. He quickly walked up to her and said, not very quietly, "Before dinner I think it would serve the group well for you and I to check the perimeter for any possible invasions."

She continued with her work, arranging supplies on a shelf against the wall. "Shale and Dog are already keeping watch, I don't--"

"They have to stay near the cabin," he interjected. "We should check the _perimeter._" He reached for her naked arm, gently squeezing it so she would look at him.

She turned her head, a smirk already on her face. "If you think it's best," she answered, grabbing her sword and dagger and following him out the door.

They barely kept up the charade going past Shale and Dog, dropping their blades as soon as they had ducked into the surrounding trees.

They both still had their armor on, but each had discarded gloves and helms. Sarah's hair was messily tied into pigtails while Alistair's hair was perfectly arranged (he had combed it before bringing in the firewood).

They found a small clearing amongst the dense trees and eyed each other intensely, as two bucks would before sparring over a mate, standing about two feet apart. A spectator would likely conclude the two were more akin to rival gladiators than young warriors in love.

She seemed to challenge him, Alistair thought, with her aggressively stern expression, daring him to come any closer. She always found them in the same place in these moments, each nearly overcome with desire but also too inexperienced to proceed with any inkling of confidence. So they made a game of it, circling each other, seeing who would break first.

Then, Alistair took a quick step forward, wrapping his coarse hands around her cold cheeks. She stepped into his grasp, looking up to meet his lips, and their mouths locked in a charged kiss. Their arms wrapped around each other, pressing their bodies as close as the armor would allow. Sarah gasped suddenly, opening her lips ever so slightly, and as if overwhelmed by a new intensity, Alistair slipped his tongue across the barrier, exploring her mouth. She responded, their deep embrace becoming another entanglement of inexperienced but overpowering passion. Alistair pulled her closer, cursing his heavy armor as he listened to her drakescales scrape against his splintmail. He wedged his foot between the two of hers. He pressed his hand into her lower back. His tongue continued creeping along her mouth. He surprised even himself with his unabashed approach. Her fingers were running through his hair, making a mess of his immaculate combing. He heard her breath quicken, and he began to feel an inkling of nervousness, which soon developed into full-fledged fear. He had no idea what he was doing. This was the first woman he'd ever kissed, let alone done other things with. What in Thedas was he thinking? He loosened his hold on her and pulled his head back, meeting her eyes just as they fluttered open

"I wish it could be just the two of us here on this mountain, far away from everyone else, and far away from the Blight, and the Darkspawn," she whispered.

"So do I," he answered sincerely, brushing disordered locks of hair away from her face, silently begging that she not question his hesitance.

She stopped moving her fingers through his hair and rested her palms on his shoulders. She continued gazing into his eyes, and she found herself lost in their amber radiance once again. She didn't think before she said it, instead it came out in an involuntary breathy whisper, "Alistair, I think I love you."

He took a small step back, one hand still around her waist. He continued looking into her eyes, pausing just long enough to catch the breath that had mysteriously escaped him at her admission. Instantly he remembered their conversation in the tent, how she had never been in love, how she had never... He took a deep breath, suddenly frightened by her touch and her hypnotizing gaze. He unwrapped his arm from her waist and turned his head to the side. "I-I-I'm not...I can't..."

She dropped her arms and stared at the ground between them, eyes blinking furiously. "It's okay, Alistair. You don't have to say it back," she said softly.

"No, no, no, no, no," he stammered quickly. Both of his hands leaped up to cradle her cheeks, forcing her to look at him again. "I love you, too. Without a doubt." He smiled and blushed. "It's just, I'm not ready for..." his voice trailed away and he hoped desperately she would take his meaning and not laugh at him.

"Oh, my," she breathed, shaking her head. "Neither am I. At least not here, not now. I just wanted to tell you how I feel. You know, while we're alone and I had the chance."

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her tightly. She returned his embrace, pressing her cheek against his rough stubble.

She giggled lightly into his ear. "Ser Templar, we have to be the most virginal Grey Wardens to ever be recruited."

Alistair suddenly felt very guilty and was moved to confess his weaknesses from earlier that day. "I may not be as pure as you, my dear." He took a deep breath. "I watched you, by the altar, and...and..." He squeezed her tighter. "I was not having very virginal thoughts," he admitted.

She took in a small gasp. "You watched me?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"You are a treasure worth waiting for," he answered. "I want us to wait until we're both ready. When we have time to enjoy each other."

She nodded into his neck. "I agree." She paused. "Alistair, I have something to tell you, too."

"Oh?"

"The other night, when you were bathing by the river...I was...watching you."

"You what?" he breathed.

"It was dark," she said quickly. "I didn't see...everything, but I...saw enough."

"And?"

"You have the cutest little behind I have ever laid eyes on," she giggled.

He erupted into laughter. How was it that this woman could put him so at ease? How were the scariest moments of the past few months now his most treasured?

He leaned his head back and planted another deep kiss on her lips. She returned his caresses for a moment before pulling away.

"We have to get back," she said.

"We do." He lifted his forefinger to her lips, touching them gently, as if trying to capture and preserve the feeling of completion that washed over him when she kissed him. He turned slowly, and she followed him through the trees.

They gathered their weapons at the edge of the woods, and Alistair exclaimed, "What a fierce pack of rabid wolves!"

"Thank goodness we walked the perimeter!" she shouted likewise, each unaware that they were fooling no one.

Dog greeted them with a happy bark, and Sarah pat him on the head before heading in to the cabin for dinner and a long night of fitful sleep, knowing that her beloved was within reach, yet beyond her grasp.


	19. Cognition

_*Alistair*_

_

* * *

_CHAPTER 18

She was trying to make a decision, I could see that much. The plan was to leave Haven the next morning, which we had done, and then make our way as quickly as possible to Redcliffe. But, she had changed her mind about something. She was like that, always thinking 10 steps ahead when the rest of us were in the here and now. Even I was still dumbfounded that we had uncovered Andraste's Ashes, but it was just another spin in my whirlwind of the past few weeks.

I had all but convinced myself that...I don't know...pursuing my fellow Warden was not only a hopeless endeavor, but a silly one. Obviously that resolution didn't stick, and I found myself falling in love with the strong and beautiful Lady Cousland. Remembering our first kiss in the tent, and the clumsy but treasured moments we shared since then made my stomach do somersaults. I absentmindedly ran my tongue along my lips, remembering how just hours before her kiss lingered on my mouth. I thought of her scent, armor polish and mint leaves. How she loved mint leaves.

Sometimes, I stood in awe of her, doubting that she could care for me as much as I did for her, but then she said, "Alistair, I think I love you," answering my every hope with an unexpected confession of devotion. She sent my mind spinning in every direction, and yet one look at her and I was completely grounded.

The others trailed behind the two of us, as was usual, Shale bringing up the rear, at a safe distance so that the less nimble of our party (read: me) would not be as prone falling down due to the earthquakes that occurred under his feet.

I studied her face closely as we marched silently. I had discerned that Sarah had three "thinking" expressions. During the first, her eyes and brow were furrowed with consternation, but her jaw was soft, her lower lip sticking out ever so slightly, turning her face into an adorable pout. This look usually meant that she was turning over a conundrum in her head, weighing a plethora of options. In the next stage, her jaw was set, her brow relaxed, but her eyes stern. This meant she had made a decision, felt it was the right one but was hesitant to follow through. In the rare third expression, her entire face would relax, a tiny smile on her lips. Of course, this meant she had arrived at a decision she liked. That was my favorite face, well apart from her beautiful full grin, or her lifted eye brow questioning expression, or the rolling of her eyes when Morrigan became difficult, or the gleam she had when someone would laugh, or when her eyes glistened right before she closed them as a I leaned in for a stolen kiss...oh don't make me choose just one, I can't.

The less admirable part of me, studied her movements as well. Her gait, smooth and nimble, determined, or skipping on her toes when she were excited or happy. Then her strengthened torso, in perfect posture, doubtlessly shaped from years of working with a governess and reinforced through military training. I would, in my weaker moments, wonder what was shielded by that armor, aside from a scarred right oblique, imagining soft skin and toned muscles...and her strong slender legs that allowed her seamless movement and unfaltering strength in battle.

And her hands, those beautiful hands, nails short because she had a habit of biting them when they weren't gloved, and her magical fingers. It was all I could do to keep from stealing her away from the path and running off into the woods.

My heart jumped at the sound of her voice. "Alistair," she crooned my name.

"Yesssss," I drawled, stepping closer, lowering the pitch of my voice, "You're desire is my command."

She gasped, but didn't speak, her cheeks turning a slightly deeper shade of pink than her natural color. She took a deep breath and swallowed. "I think it's time to stop for lunch."

I stood up, rather disappointed. "Right, of course."

So we stopped for lunch, all of us sitting in a circle around a tiny fire. And then the witch started.

"I do wonder. Is it permissible for two Grey Wardens to...oh, what is the word I search for?"

I tried to deflect, "Caboodle?"

She tapped a finger at her temple in mock contemplation. "Fraternize," she declared.

_Brush it off Alistair_ "What's wrong with fraternizing?"

She sniffed, "It seems most undisciplined, for an organization that claims it will do whatever is necessary to end the darkspawn threat."

She wasn't making any sense, I told her as much: "One thing has nothing to do with the other."

"Oh no?" She began, her voice lilting in that infuriatingly annoying way. "And what if a Grey Warden is forced to choose between the Warden he loved and ending the Blight? What should his choice be?"

I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. "That is a...a ridiculous question," I retorted.

She rose, "And I have my answer. Most kind of you." She spun and left the circle.

But her question lingered in my mind. _What if you had to choose? What if you had to choose?_ it repeated itself over and over. The witch had a point; I was compromised, but I wasn't able to admit it. _It won't come to that_, I reasoned. _The likelihood of that happening is nearly nonexistent._ And then another voice in my head, almost in a whisper, replied, _But if it were going to happen, Alistair, it would happen to you._

I turned to my fellow Grey Warden, she had stopped eating, half the food left on her plate. And she had made a decision, her face told me that much, but it was a decision she didn't like, and I had a feeling I wouldn't either. I took her hand, public displays of affection be damned, and kissed her.

She pulled back ever so slightly, giving me a confused look, then her expression changed immediately, her green eyes hinting at a faint sadness that I felt my face was mirroring. She kissed me back, but it was different from our previous embraces, which had been full of seemingly unstoppable passion. This one was gentle, almost pleading, reminding me of the look she gave me right after she had been injured weeks ago.

I put my arm around her, pulling her close to me. She leaned her head on my chest. "I have a plan," she began, "but you won't like it."


	20. Third Gift

_AN: I left school to drive home for Christmas today, but I hit a terrible snowstorm. Thankfully, my dad came out to help me drive the rest of the way home, but alas, the snow is coming down so much that we have been stranded. So, I wrote this while in a hotel room, my dad snoring loudly and Jimmy Kimmel on TV (Maker help me that man is crude). I hope this unconventional atmosphere hasn't ruined the tone of my story, I'm just so anxious to see what happens next that I must trudge on. As always, thanks for reading!_

* * *

_*Alistair*_

_

* * *

_CHAPTER 19

"Are you serious, going to the forest on your own! With the elf!?" I shouted.

She sat on the stone across from me, leaning on her elbows which were resting on her knees. She stared at the ground, speaking in a calm, even tone that infuriated me. "Leliana and Dog are going, too. The four of us are the swiftest and can hide easily. If we wish to reach the elves before the Darkspawn, and if we wish to save Eamon, this has to be done."

"But splitting up our group, just to be timely? Isn't that a little extreme? Surely we can stop by Redcliffe quickly and make our way east after that."

She slapped her forehead and sighed. "Alistair, I've thought about this in as many ways as I can imagine. There is no way we can make it to the forest in time at the rate we're traveling, nor can we cut off time by traveling through Lothering. We would be noticed, attacked, and delayed even more. This is the best way. Zevran, Dog, Lil, and I make a straight line for the Dalish, you take the others to Redcliffe, save the Arl, Maker willing, and start devising a way to deal with Loghain."

I paced around the campfire, astounded she could propose such a crazy plan and remain cool and calculating.

"Why can't I go with you? I can run, I'll wear lighter armor, I'll watch out for tree roots!"

She looked up, finally meeting my face, "Because you are the only one I trust to see the job is done." She tried to hide it by balling her hands into fists, but I could see that her arms were trembling.

She sighed again, standing up and facing me. "You know that I don't like this plan anymore than you do, but it is the only way to make sure everything falls into place." She swallowed, blinked rapidly, and continued. "Before anything else, we have a loyalty to the Wardens, we have to stop the Blight. In order to do that we have to gain allies where we can, and if those potential allies find themselves in the direct path of the Darkspawn, we have to help them."

I paced back and forth a few times, fuming. Why was she so resolute to leave me? "You do realize," I said harshly before lowering my voice to a whisper, "that this will be the first time since we met that we won't be together?"

She sniffed and cleared her throat. "And don't you think for a second that doesn't scare me to death."

I felt horrible. Here she was, making decisions I couldn't imagine considering, and remaining focused on the big picture. "I can't bear the thought of you--gone. It was bad enough last month when you almost died in battle, and now you want to go into the forest without me? Without me there to watch over you, to protect you?"

She unclenched her other fist, and held my hand. "I promise you that I will be careful. We will stay in the shadows, sneak past the Darkspawn, find the Dalish camp, serve the orders, and meet you at Redcliffe. Besides, can you really imagine that I'd leave a tribe of elves to the Darkspawn without warning them? Or that I would let Arl Eamon suffer any more than he has to?" She brushed a finger along my cheek. "No, of course not, Alistair, and you wouldn't either. Please try to understand: this is the only way."

I sighed, wrapping my arms around her, and pulling her close to me. "I know," I said, resting my head on hers. "But if that Antivan so much as winks at you, he's going to die a slow and painful death. I've trained as a templar, I know about slow and painful."

I felt her shake as she laughed.

I stroked her hair, adding more conditions. "And you must sleep with your weapons at all times, no exceptions. And Dog must be with you constantly, no private bathroom breaks, no trips to the lake without him by your side."

She pulled away, looking up at me. She reached her hand to my face. "I promise."

****

The next morning all of us woke early, the group divided in two. Wynne, Sten, Morrigan (Maker help me), Shale, and I, along with the pony, took the majority of the supplies. Sarah and the others gathered, in small packs, enough food and poultices for a week's journey.

While Sarah was finalizing the travel routes with Wynne (wisely deciding I wasn't the best navigator), I gave Dog a good talking to.

"For what it's worth, hound, I'm depending on you to bring her back to me. Don't let her do anything foolhardy, keep a close eye on that lecherous elf, and most importantly, keep her safe." For good measure, I gave him a sheep bone.

He wagged his tale and barked.

Just before the rogues and Mabari departed, I pulled Sarah aside.

"I have something for you," I began, "I made this last night. I, er, was hoping you could wear it as a sort of reminder to, oh I don't know...to remind you that I am waiting for you."

She lifted the simple bracelet I made from some string and beads.

"Of course I'll wear it."

I tied it around her nimble wrist, caressing her forearm. "I love you."

She stood on her toes, planting a deep, lingering kiss on my lips. "I love you, too."

Then they were off, the four of them disappeared into the forest. I stared at the trees she ran between for a long time before picking up my sword and shield, hesitantly walking beside Wynne as she led us down the path. The world around me was gray and lifeless. My chest ached and I blinked away the tears.


	21. Learning Lessons

_*Sarah*_

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CHAPTER 20

Squish, squish, my feet pounded the forest floor as limbs and branches whisked by. The green and brown colors around me turned to a blur as I led us through the woods, distantly following the road on our way to the Brecilian forest. My sword and dagger clanged against my armor, mimicking the rhythm of my footfalls. It was like a percussive song, the steady beat of my stride, the whistling wind, the repetitive echoes of my companions. I gave myself over to the music of the trek, trying to force myself to clear my mind. I focused instead on patterns in the wood, analyzing the rows of trees and devising the most efficient paths around them.

Despite these potential distractions, I could not erase the image of Alistair's gaze from my mind. When I had initially proposed separating, I never imagined it would be so hard to leave him. I had always possessed the ability to push my feelings aside when there was a mission to focus on. I was able to do that when I found my nephew and sister in law dead in their bedchamber, I was able to pass through the gauntlet without a single tear simply because there was a goal ahead of me. Of course, I could not avoid my feelings at all times, so I grieved in spurts, impromptu moments by the fire, or in a tent, but rarely did I mourn when in working toward a goal or destination.

But as I jogged through the trees, I couldn't put my longing for Alistair aside. I felt like I had left part of myself on that mountain road, that my heart was miles away.

"Hmm, what a fantastic image of Mother Nature," Zevran observed, sidling next to me. "I could travel at this pace for quite some time with such a rewarding view." Instead of studying the trees around us, he emphatically looked me over, his roaming eyes lingering over places I was not exactly comfortable with him examining.

"So, have you given any more thought to teaching me how to be an assassin?" I asked, referring to a previous conversation we had at camp.

"Well, seeing as how the Crows are already angry with me, I suppose I could indulge your request."

"Good. When we rest for the night, we can begin our lessons."

"I look forward to it," he said with a wink, then fell behind me again.

Zevran's incessant comments were wholly unnerving. I felt scrutinized at every turn, and although his remarks were somewhat complimentary, his voice made my skin crawl. I hated that feeling, but I knew that telling him as much would only encourage him more. I had to find another way to stifle his expectations, and his comments.

When we stopped for the night, each of us nearly exhausted, we began our "lessons." As I had rightly assumed, Zevran's tactics were no more intricate than glorified mercenary work, clean, efficient killing through the use of poison and combat tactics. But, I played the fool, pretending that his movements dumbfounded me. However, as we were going over sneak attacks from the rear for about the sixth time, I approached him slowly, swiping lightly at his neck with my dagger, before quickly rounding his front and forcing him to the ground. He was initially flummoxed, but soon grinned and jumped up and fought back. We parried lightly for some time before I deftly kicked his legs out from under him, forcing him onto the ground and holding my sword at his throat.

"Zevran, do you really think that you could teach me anything I didn't already know? After all, didn't we find ourselves in the same position a fortnight ago?"

I stepped over his body, and swung my dagger at his leg as he tried to fell me.

"Ha!" I exclaimed, "I'm not as foolish or naive as you think. Now, as far as I can recall, this is Wardens two, Crows zero." I eyed him closely and he nodded. "I'm glad you agree. Let's get a few things straight. There will be no more leering stares in my direction, no more references to my hindquarters, front quarters, movements, or any other attribute you may find yourself wanting to comment on."

I removed my sword, and reached down to pull him up from the ground. He stood before me, a small smirk on his face.

He replied, "My, my how you fluster me me with your--"

I swished my dagger across his face, making a small incision on his chin.

His hand raced to the wound.

"I didn't miss, Zevran. Keep it in mind that I always hit my mark. Now, get yourself cleaned up, drink a poultice, and go to bed. We'll start fresh tomorrow, if you can stand it."

Never taking the smirk off his lips, he turned from me and entered his tent.

"Well, that's one thing taken care of, at least," I said to Dog who had watched the ordeal closely. He barked and followed me to my bedroll by the fire. Leliana had already retired for the evening. Although she was keeping pace with the rest of us, I sensed that the constant running was taking its toll on her. She was a trained fighter, but our trek had been grueling since we left the others. We had made it from Haven to Lothering in three days, and I planned to meet the Dalish sometime tomorrow.

I collapsed on my bed, exhausted but not so tired as to be ready for sleep. I examined the bracelet Alistair had given me, turning over the beads in my fingers. They were simple enough, some brown, some tan, strung on a line Alistair had unwoven from a rope. As I traced the outline of the beads, I realized that some had letters engraved on them.

I sat up, inching closer to the fire to make out the characters.

"My mooie ziel -A.," they read. I knew the phrase well, it was an ancient Orleisian idiom, roughly translated as "My beautiful soul," but was more often used to mean, "The one who completes my soul," or "The other half of my being."

I traced the beads again, my eyes stinging with tears, and I sobbed silently by the fire. I don't know why I cried so much, but my heart ached with an emptiness I did not know could exist. I untied the bracelet from my wrist and wrapped around my fingers, kissing each bead and holding the bracelet to my cheek. Dog trotted up and lay beside me, resting his head on my lap.

He barked softly.

"Yes, I know. We have important work to do, and we need our rest." I wiped the tears off my cheeks, and still wearing my armor I crawled into my bed, the bracelet still wrapped around my fingers, which in turn were wrapped around the handle of my dagger. Dog lay on the ground next to my bed, and I finally fell into a fitful sleep that was void of Darkspawn, but full of pain.


	22. The Note

_*Alistair*_

_

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_

CHAPTER 21

It took us five days to reach Redcliffe, and I was never so happy to see the castle in my life. After nearly a week's march, with little else to focus on but the path before me, and the absence of my fellow Warden, I needed a change of pace. We made our way up the hill into the courtyard, which was as silent when we left it weeks ago. There were two guards by the entrance, as well as a small boy of about ten. He ran up to me.

"Are you Alistair? They said you would be coming soon. Are you really a Grey Warden?" He jumped around in front of me.

I was tired, and not at all ready to deal with an energetic child, but he reminded me of myself at that age, so I gave in.

"Yep, I'm Alistair, and I'm a Grey Warden. Can you tell me, though, how the Arl is fairing?"

"Oh, I don't know about that, they won't let me in the castle." He inched around me, trying to peak at my shield.

"Then why are you sitting around by the castle door if they won't let you in?" I prodded.

"Oh right!" He stood still, for once, reached into his pocket, pulled out a scrap of parchment, and handed it to me.

"What's this?" I asked.

"It's a message for you, a merchant came by here yesterday and paid me to deliver it."

"Well, thank you. Here's something for your trouble." I gave him a silver and he ran off, his fascination with my weaponry apparently dispelled.

I continued walking toward the door, unfolding the paper as I went. But I stopped in the middle of the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest. It read:

_"Alistair,_

_We've made it to the Dalish camp, and a merchant agreed to deliver this note for me. Things are good, we made excellent time here and all of us are faring well. I have yet to speak with the clan's keeper, but I imagine once I convince them of the severity of the Darkspawn threat, they will mobilize for relocation and for war._

_"Remember, while you're waiting for us to return, monitor the Arl's condition and work with Teagan and Eamon (hopefully) to devise plans for dealing with Loghain. Also, see what you can find out about the dwarves, for we depart for Orzammar next. Make sure Wynne gets plenty of rest, and don't let Shale kill too many birds. I imagine we shall be in Redcliffe within the week, but please do not worry if it takes us longer, you can never really tell with these things._

_Dog says that he has a rabbit for you, Zevran encourages you to find a brothel, and Leliana sends her prayers. As for me, I send my love and encouragement. We will meet again soon, my mooie ziel._

_S."_

I traced her words with my finger before Wynne dragged me into the castle. We found Teagan quickly, and he told us the Arl's condition had not improved. I sent Morrigan, Sten, and Shale to unpack the pony and to rest, while Wynne and I followed Teagan to Arl Eamon's bedchamber.

A few other mages and Isolde were already there, no doubt praying for Eamon to wake up. I handed Teagan the pouch of ashes, and he in turn gave it to the head mage. Wynne contributed as she could, and after a few hours, Eamon stirred awake.

Isolde was the first to speak to him, giving a quick rundown of the state of the kingdom, Conner, and me.

I was relieved at Eamon's recovery. I felt a responsibility lifted from my shoulders knowing that at least one nobleman was alive and still loyal to the Wardens.

The rest of us left him to speak with Teagan and Isolde in private. I checked on the rest of our party, ensuring they were squared away in the castle. One soldier had even given Shale a patch of garden all to himself. Of course, the golem resolved himself to rid the grounds of any fowls. Morrigan locked herself away in a room, reading a strange black book we had found in the Circle. Sten found the castle's library and was researching Ferelden geography and military history. Wynne was walking around the castle, speaking to the servants and knights alike, no doubt offering most of them lectures on life choices.

I found myself in the kitchen, looking for a cook to fix me some supper, when Teagan found me.

"Alistair, what is this?" He held up Sarah's note. Drat! I must have dropped it.

"Er...that's a message from the other half of our party. Remember, I told you they were seeking out the Dalish?" I was praying that he didn't read, or at least didn't understand the last lines before her signature.

"Well, I can see it's from your fellow Warden." He placed the letter on the table in front of me and sat down. "Sit," he pointed. "What is this here, this signature?"

"Er, a Grey Warden Code, you know, death to the archdemon, Darkspawn suck, all that." I didn't like where this was going.

"Do you take me for a fool? Alistair, are you in love with this woman?"

I was speechless, and I'm sure that my face turned red.

"Alistair, answer me."

"You know, I'm not 9 years old anymore, you can't tell me what to do." I swiped the letter from the table, and stormed off to my room. Well aware that I had, in fact, just acted as if I were 9 years old, and confirmed Teagan's suspicions by refusing to answer his question.

I went to my room and paced. Then I threw my pack at the castle wall, slashed the bed linens with my sword, shattered a few cups and saucers, and broke a chair. After an hour of fuming, I was ready to talk.

I found Teagan in the study, and answered his question.

"First of all, she's not just some woman, she is Sarah Cousland, daughter of the late Teryn of Highever, and a Grey Warden. Second, I am in love with her, but I don't see how that concerns you. Third, I'm going to need some new linens and dishes for my room." I stared at him, daring him to contradict me.

Then, Arl Eamon entered the room. "Alistair, my boy, I am glad to see you so well."

I spun around, mentally kicking myself in the pants for losing my temper within earshot of the Arl. I bowed, "My Lord."

He slowly walked toward Teagan, looking fit and healthy for a man who had spent nearly two months bedridden.

"Alistair," he began, "I believe Teagan is right to be concerned about your fellow Grey Warden. I trust she is well?"

I nodded.

"Good. We shall wait until she returns before we implement any sort of concrete plan, but I would urge you to reconsider your priorities." He looked over at Teagan, and the brothers shared a glance, before leaving the room together. _Why are they being so cryptic? And why does it matter to them who I'm in love with?_ And then I remembered, and the realization hit me like Shale's fists pummeling those birds. _They want me to be king_.

But I didn't want to be king. I wanted to be Alistair. All my life, I'd done what I was told, gone to the abbey, gone to the chantry, scrubbed the pots, polished the armor, said my nightly prayers, trained with the Templars. And finally, when I could escape, when Duncan conscripted me to the Wardens, I could do something that I enjoyed, that I felt was worthwhile. Then, I met Sarah, and Duncan died. I didn't choose to be a Warden, but Duncan chose me and I followed him willingly.

I didn't really choose to fall in love, either, but I loved her willingly. And if they were going to force me to give up my love...No, I wouldn't. For once in my life I was going to take a stand. For once, I was going to choose what I wanted.

I stuck my head around the corner and shouted, "I'm still going to need that stuff for my room!"


	23. Running

_*Sarah*_

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CHAPTER 22

Elven culture had always been a source of fascination for me. Of course, there was little of that culture left, given that humans had enslaved and marginalized elves for years, and much of their history was lost. But the nomadic Dalish made all attempts to recover their heritage, relying on old tales and keepers to remind the clans of their forebears. In addition to a love for their ancestry, the Dalish clanship was the glue holding communities together.

That's why, as I stood in the werewolf lair, closely eying the Dalish keeper, Zathrian, as Witherfang explained how the sorcerer had trapped human souls to beast forms, I was dumfounded. I was utterly shocked. Like his clan, I respected and trusted Zathrian, and here he was, seeking vengeance for a centuries' old incident.

"Are you willing to let your clan suffer for this? Just how far will you go for revenge, Zathrian?" I spat. My hands were balled in fists at my side, and Dog growled at the keeper.

Lil and Zev stood silently to the side, motionless, with weapons drawn.

"If you would help me slaughter these beasts, my clan would not have to worry about future attacks." He turned and cornered me. He was quite tall for an elf, taller than me even.

I stood up straight, and glared back, not wanting to let him think for an instant that I would give in. "No, I will not help you do this. Zathrian, end the curse, or I will do it for you. Think of your people, don't make them suffer for your wrath."

He finally gave in, he fell to his knees, streams of fog and speckled particles flying from his fingertips. After some time he fell to the stone floor. He was gone. I spoke with the men who had been trapped, and wished them well. Although this was an important victory, all I could think about was ensuring the elves alliance and getting to Redcliffe. If indeed Alistair had received my note, he would have expected us four days ago. This jaunt into the deep Brecilian forest was obviously not on the schedule when I sent that message.

I gathered my companions and we made our way to the surface. We raced through the forest, as I clasped the oak branch in my hand so as to prevent any further sylvan trickery. We quickly restocked with Verathorn, I ensured the alliance of the clan, which was now under the care of a new keeper, who remained unaware of Zathrian's deception. I kept his deeds under wraps, the last thing I wanted was unnecessary mutiny, the clan had enough to worry about, what with needing to relocate quickly and stock their wares with armor and weapons.

We left the Dalish right before dark, running until midnight, when we stopped for a few hours of sleep prior to waking at dawn and running some more.

I knew my companions were tired, I was tired, but I only wanted to get to Redcliffe, I wanted to see Alistair, I wanted to wrap my arms around him and hold him as long as he would let me. Every step I took on the forest floor, every tree that whisked by brought me closer to him. I don't think my spirit would have let me stop, even if my body tried to tell me I had to.

I ran.


	24. Impatience

_*Alistair*_

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CHAPTER 23

A week late. Well, very nearly a week late, six days after her note said she'd arrive. I held that note in my hand, it was crumpled and creased where I kept opening and reclosing it, rereading every paragraph to make sure she had said a week. It had been twelve days, five sunrises more than a week. I paced around the courtyard, scanning the training grounds but not looking at anything. I was to oversee the soldiers' preparation, but I could not. I kept looking back to the castle gates, looking for a sign, hoping to see her brown messy hair peak its way over the crest of the hill. I would have settled for another message, a reason they were delayed. But there was nothing. An occasional cart of supplies, or even a herd of horses, but never _her_.

I clung to the parchment. _Is this it? Is this really all that I will have left? Surely, I would have felt something if she--the taint, we are connected with the taint, if she had passed...I would know, wouldn't I?_

"Warden, she will be here. She said she may be late. She is a soldier, she will not fail," Sten said stoically as he walked by.

_Of course,_ I reminded myself, _she is a capable fighter, a strong and smart woman...she is fine_. I tried to focus on the archery range, on the sword fights, on the combat training, but I could not. Finally, I sat on the castle steps and watched the gates.

I missed lunch, I missed tea, but I was not hungry, and I could not be content to sit around a table nibbling at biscuits knowing she was still out there, somewhere. I sat on those stairs, leaning forward on my knees and waited.

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the valley below. Within seconds the young messenger who had greeted me before ran up the hill. I quickly rose to my feet.

"The other Warden!"

"What?" I shouted, "What about her?"

"She has returned!"

My heart leaped. Could it be true? Was she back?

I heard more rustling up the hill. Dog bounded through the gates and tackled me, licking my face and jumping around.

"Get off me, Mabari. Where is she?"

He leaped away and barked, running back down the hill.

Then Zevran appeared, "Alistair, my good friend," he smiled, "You are a sight for sore eyes, and tired feet!"

I was even happy to see the elf, who was carrying three packs instead of one. I ran up to him, hugging him and lifting him off the ground.

"My, my, if I should always receive such a welcome, I would leave more often."

I turned from him, scanning the horizon. "Where is she?" _Why haven't I seen her yet?_

"Oh, you mean your fellow Warden? Well, she is coming. Go see for yourself," Zevran pointed down the hill, a smirk on his face.

I sprinted down the hill, and there she was, wearing her drakescale armor, her face splotchy with dirt, her boots covered in mud. And I saw what was taking her so long. Leliana leaned wearily against Sarah. I ran to them. Sarah was a mess, scattered spots of blood speckled her armor, and her face drooped slightly; she was very tired.

"Alistair," she breathed, smiling broadly. "Leliana, she's hurt her ankle, can you..." she was winded from taking on the extra weight.

"Of course," I said, lifting the bard from the ground. It seemed that Leliana fell asleep almost as soon as she left the ground. "How did you hurt yourself?"

"A bog," Sarah answered, spying Leliana's closed eyes. "We ran through a bog, I thought it would have been a shortcut, but it took us much longer than expected, and..." she paused to catch her breath, "and, Leliana, I'm sorry, but she fell over, and..." Sarah stopped again before following me to the stairs.

"I see. Well at least everyone is all right. And safe," I added. I was concerned about Leliana's health, but part of me wanted to drop her to the ground and pick up Sarah in my arms instead. I wanted to kiss her a million times over, and never let her go.

"And the Arl?" she asked.

"He's made a full recovery." _Maker, how can she stay so on task?!_ "We've been waiting for you to finalize the plans for dealing with Loghain."

We reached the stairs, and ever so slightly, Sarah gripped my arm and held it for a few seconds, before running her fingers deftly along my forearm. I shivered, and she stifled a giggle.

"I'm glad you're back," I smiled.

"So am I," she gave me a half smile and blinked slowly, as if summoning energy to ascend the stairs.

We took Leliana to the infirmary, and found Wynne nearby. The mage quickly went to aid the injured rogue.

Sarah and I walked down the hallway.

"So..." I began. "I suppose you're tired."

Suddenly, she grabbed my hand and pulled me into a shadowed alcove of the castle wall. She threw off her gloves, wrapped her fingers in my hair and kissed me.

"I missed you so much," she said, through pecks across my mouth.

I placed my hand on the back of her head. "You have _nooo_ idea," I said, brushing strands of hair from her face. "I thought I would never see you again," I whispered, kissing her forehead and pulling her closer. "I was so scared," I cradled her face in my hand, gazing into her eyes. I couldn't believe she was back in my arms, I felt complete again.

Just then, Zevran whisked by, "Bann Teagan alert, my star crossed-lovers," the elf cited as he ran past us.

We pulled apart, I straightened my hair while Sarah retrieved her gloves.

"Grey Warden," Teagan said, "I am glad to hear of your return. When you have settled in, the Arl requests your presence in the main hall."

"Of course," Sarah bowed her head slightly. "Tell the Arl I will see him soon."

Teagan looked at me closely before turning around and leaving us.

I wrapped my arm around her waist, leading her to an empty bedchamber the servants had set aside for her arrival. We stepped in and I shut the door behind us. The chambermaid had stocked the room with clean clothes, soaps, and fragrances, but Sarah didn't seem to notice them. Instead she threw her gloves into the corner and sat on the bed and sighed.

I sat on the floor next to her, unlacing one of her boots as she sat on the bed.

I had to tell her. "Teagan read your note," I said flatly.

"What?" she murmured.

"Your note, Teagan found it. He knows about...us." I pulled her left boot off and set it aside, and began unlacing the other one. "And he's none too happy about it."

"Why would it matter to him?" she said lazily.

I pulled her other boot off and stood next to the bed. She had unlaced the top part of her armor was slipping it over her head. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to continue unlacing her bracers, to lock the door, ignore the world, and...

"Maker's breath, you're beautiful," I said, moving next to sit next to her on the bed. I wrapped my arms around her, and kissed her, feeling her muscles expand and contract beneath her thin undershirt. She lay down, wrapped her arms around my shoulders and pulled me down, never breaking the embrace.

My lips roamed across her face, her neck, and she gasped, arching her back, pressing our bodies even closer together. "Alistair," she moaned softly.

I had to break the embrace. This was no time to start this, it wasn't right, not yet.

I walked quickly to the other side of the room and sat on a chair, my body still hot from the contact and wondering why I left.

I clasped my hands on the back of my neck. "They want me to be king."

"What?" She sat up and looked over, her face was flushed and she seemed to be breathing heavily. I looked at the floor.

"They want me to be king," I repeated.

"I see. Did they already ask you?" She rose from the bed and quickly put on a robe that was hanging nearby.

"Not so much, as asked me, but rather told me with their condescending eyes and parental glares."

"Oh, Alistair." She sat at the vanity, eying me as she untied her pigtails. "Let's wait until we meet with Eamon before we start worrying about anything else."

"That's the smartest thing you've said all day," I replied, standing up and walking up to her. I stared at her as she looked back at me. Stray hair framed her face. "I'm so glad you're back. You can't ever leave me again," I joked, holding my hands over my heart.

"I won't, if I can help it," she said softly, her green eyes ablaze. "My beautiful soul," she whispered.

I laughed awkwardly, "I love you, you know. But, if I don't get out of this room, I'm afraid that the rest of your armor will lie in pieces at the foot of that bed and your hair will be a lot messier than it is now."

Before she could answer me, I left the room and tried to think of the best place to take a cold shower. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, that's for sure.


	25. The Female Warden

_AN: Thanks for all of the kind reviews I've received, and thanks to those of you who continue reading. We're getting to some good stuff pretty soon, and I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

CHAPTER 24

_*Third-person*_

Teagan eyed Alistair closely. The two Grey Wardens stood before Arl Eamon as the four of them discussed further plans. A change seemed to have come over the ex-templar, very different even from the impetuous warrior Teagan had cornered just a week ago. Instead, Alistair was quiet, serious, and, if Teagan wasn't mistaken, agreeable.

Then, Teagan considered this Grey Warden standing beside Alistair. She was slight of build, but her posture and imposing glare hinted that there was more to this woman than met the eye. She was courteous enough, of course, after all, she was talking to an arl, but she was not so courteous as to be sycophantic or patronizing. Indeed, the Cousland heir had contradicted Eamon on multiple points, but doing so in such a way that the remarks never came off as snide or condescending. Teagan resolved that this woman was a definite boon to their fight against the Darkspawn, and against Loghain.

Sarah had related all the details of their journey to Arl Eamon, and sketched out a plan for recruiting the dwarves. While no decisions were made in the meeting, Eamon indicated that he valued the Warden's opinion and scheduled another discussion for the next day. Realizing that Sarah and her other companions were tired from such a long journey; Eamon ordered an elaborate supper and arranged a dance party in the castle. Eamon hoped to restore morale and confidence in the region by demonstrating that Redcliffe castle was well off enough to host an elegant soiree, and invited other nobles as well as wealthy families to join the festivities.

Before Alistair left the main hall, Teagan pulled him aside. "For what it's worth, Alistair, you have my blessing. She is a wonderful woman."

And, before Alistair could reply, Teagan walked out of the castle door to monitor the training grounds.

* * *

_*Sarah*_

After speaking with Eamon, I returned to my bedchamber, tired and dirty from my journey. Before the meeting I had changed quickly into random pants and a shirt I found in the cupboard. I planned to have a bath and get ready for the dinner. Eamon requested our presence at the head table, and I couldn't very well turn down an Arl simply because I wanted to sleep. When I made it back to my room, Leliana waiting for me, her ankle wrapped up tightly.

"Lil, I'm so sorry about your ankle! How are you feeling?"

"Oh, am doing fine. They fixed me up nicely. Isn't this a lovely castle?"

"I suppose..." I didn't want to mention it, but staying at Redcliffe reminded me of Highever. Looking at the castle walls made me miss my family and long for home. I'd just as soon be on the grounds in a tent as sleeping inside for all the memories the palace stirred in me.

"Well, never mind," she said, breaking the silence. "That's not what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to ask you what you were wearing to dinner."

"I haven't really thought about it, to be honest. Just some simple pants and shirt, I suppose."

"No, no, no, no, that will not do." While still sitting in the chair, she gestured to the bed. "If I may suggest this?"

I walked to the bed, on which a simple long-sleeved noblewoman's dress was strewn. It was dark blue, with light green trim and embellishments. "This?" I asked.

"Yes, it's lovely," she mused. "Hold it up, let me see how it will look on you."

I did as she asked. She clapped her hands like a child watching a play. "Yes, it's perfect, simple, and elegant. And my, how it sets off your eyes."

I sighed and lay the dress back down. "Why all the concern about my dress, Lil? You know I don't really care about that stuff."

"I know," she giggled. "That's why I'm here to help. Now, you are going to be dining with some of the most influential nobles in Redcliffe. It would be nice for them to see you in something besides muddied armor."

There was a glint in her eyes that I couldn't quite decipher. "Why do I get the feeling you're not saying everything you're thinking?"

"What's there to say? You know as well as I do that there will be a certain Grey Warden at the party who may want to dance with you."

_Sheesh, does everyone know?_

"Awww, you're blushing, how cute!"

"I am not," I said turning away, my cheeks hot.

"It doesn't matter. Anyway, be sure to use the bath salts and flower petals I set out for you." She pointed to the vanity. "And, I will be back to do your hair later." She stood. "On second thought, you come to my room later. The less walking, the better."

"As you command," I gave her a mock salute as she hobbled out of the room. I eyed the dress on the bed skeptically. It wasn't that I particularly disliked dressing up, it was nice, on occasion, I just never felt comfortable wearing fancy garments. There was always so much to remember: eat slowly, don't make a mess, sit just so to ward off wandering eyes...it was a lot to think about. But, I have to admit, the thought of Alistair seeing me wear something besides blood-soaked armor or worn out clothing made my stomach flutter.

I bathed with the salts Leliana mentioned, and dressed quickly. Before putting the dress on, I looked in the mirror. My wound had healed completely, leaving a pink scar on my oblique. Elsewhere, I was covered in scratches and bruises, some fresh, some old, I couldn't keep track anymore where each one came from. I was thankful the dress had long sleeves, for my arms were decorated with bruises as well, and a few places were red from wearing armor I hadn't become used to yet.

The ritual made me long for my old room in Highever, where battling for my life was a distant goal and not a daily event. I missed my parents, I missed knowing that I was taken care of, that I was surrounded by family, and surrounded by loyal knights and soldiers. I brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, seeing my parents' features in my there, my father's cheekbones, my mother's nose. My green eyes, I couldn't account for, both my parents had brown eyes, as did Fergus. Oh, how I missed my brother, not knowing his true fate and fearing the worst brought tears to my eyes. I swiped them away quickly, and slid the dress over my head. This was no time for tears.

I sat on the bed to lace my shoes, remembering the heated embrace that had occurred here just hours ago: Alistair's hands caressing my body, his mouth roaming over my neck. I thought it was going to happen, but he pulled away, red-faced and flustered. Part of me was disappointed, his restraint was much stronger than mine, for I had forgotten that I was to meet Eamon, or that we were in a castle full of nobles. I only knew that I wanted to pull Alistair as close as possible, experience every part of him that I had missing for the past few weeks. I wanted to discover new parts of him, as well, I wanted to make love; I wanted to connect completely. But he was right to stop, to pull away, we had other things to take care of before indulging in such an intimate act. _If only we had more time_, I thought.

But I had to hurry, dinner was in a quarter hour, and I couldn't be late. I brushed my hair and went to find Leliana.


	26. Inquiries

CHAPTER 25

_*Alistair*_

There was a knock at my door. I sighed, standing up, and took one last look at myself in the mirror. I was dressed in nobleman's dinner garb, a slightly more refined version of the clothing the castle servants had given me the past week. I sensed this upscale attire was Eamon's doing, wanting to use me to impress the nobles and such, but I didn't really mind. I was content just to know that everyone was safe, that _she_ was safe.

Another knock. I spun around and opened the door. I gasped, she stood before me, her hair neatly arranged, decorated by a few braids and small flowers woven in, some makeup lightly painted on her face, and a blue dress draping over her frame, accentuating the curves of her body. _Ugh, why is she doing this to me? In a castle full of nobles._

"So...er, are you...ready for supper?" She asked, pulling at her shirtsleeves and biting her lip. She was an oblivious temptress.

"Maker's breath, you look beautiful," I breathed.

She smiled and blushed, looking away. "Thanks."

I smirked. "So we're going to dinner _together _now, are we?"

She shrugged, "Why not, we've been outed, I hear. Let's just enjoy the evening. Together."

"A fine plan," I replied. I wrapped my arm around her waist, feeling the curve of her side under my palm. I pulled the door shut behind me and we walked through the hall. "So, you'll be pleased to know that Teagan gave me his blessing after our meeting today."

"Hmm, his blessing? For what?"

I paused, suddenly realizing what Teagan meant by his "blessing." A blessing usually meant marriage. "For us, I suppose."

"Well, that's something," she said in a flatly.

I stopped in the hallway, worried that I had said something wrong, that I had assumed too much. "Not that I told him...we were...you know...engaged or anything..."

She turned and looked up at me, my hand dropped from her waist. "And what if we were?" she asked.

It caught me off guard. "I don't know, what do you think?"

She smiled and took my hand. "Well, I don't suppose I'd have a problem with it…if you didn't."

I tried stifling a smile that pulled at the corners of my mouth. "No, I don't suppose I'd have a problem with it, either." I dropped her hand and pulled her close as we walked.

"A fine plan," she mimicked, resting her head on my shoulder.

_So, are we married now?_ I thought. _Because I'd be okay with that, too._

***

Dinner was uneventful, Eamon politicized as the nobles looked on, and Teagan spoke well of Redcliffe's growing army. Much to my surprise no one broached the subject of kingship or darkspawn, instead they seemed to talk in riddles. There was not much for us Grey Wardens to add to the discussion, and I suspected we were seated at the head table as a show of support for the kingdom's stability.

Sarah and I kept locking eyes across the dining table, our other companions interspersed throughout the room. I studied her face, her hands, and gazed at her more than I should have in a room full of nobles. I couldn't help myself. She was mesmerizing, her eyes glistened with hope, and she smiled easily at those around her, though I could tell her thoughts were elsewhere.

I suppose, for the most part we were engaged, not in the kind of wedding-planning, announcement-writing kind of way that most people think of it, but we were committed to each other. We both knew that thinking too far into the future was dangerous, each day we staked our lives fighting Darkspawn, nothing was guaranteed. Yet, our half-serious, half-joking conversation in the hallway inspired me. After being apart for two weeks, I couldn't bear the thought of being away from her again. And when would the time be better? The entire castle was at the party, the upper levels of the palace were empty, it would be private enough, right?

After dinner, I pulled her aside. "Can we talk?" I asked slowly.

She looked at me closely. "Are you sweating? It's nearly freezing in here. Are you feeling all right?" She reached a hand to my shoulder, concerned.

"Er, I suppose I'm a little nervous," I answered.

"What is there to be nervous about? I'm the one in a dress being ogled by aged noblemen and Antivan elves." She smiled, "And bastard princes."

I smirked, "What can I say? You're beautiful. What man in his right mind wouldn't ogle you?"

She leaned close, wrapping her arms around me. "What did you want to talk about?"

I took a deep breath and ran my fingers through her hair, watching her eyes dance before me.

"Alistair?"

I forgot to speak. "Right, see the thing is…" I took another deep breath, "Whenever I'm around you, I can't think straight, I feel like my head's about to explode!" I chuckled.

"Uh, thanks, I guess," she said, looking disappointed.

"What I'm trying to say is, I can't imagine my life without you, and I don't want to. I know that neither one of us has done anything like this before, but," I paused again and took her hand, "I'd like to spend the night with you, here in your castle...in your room."

She blinked a few times, and blushed, looking away briefly, before meeting my eyes again. "Do you really think we're ready?" she asked softly.

"I'd love to wait for the perfect time, but there isn't going to be one. I want to make the most of the time we have left," I looked at the floor. "Being apart from you made me realize how much I care for you, and I want to spend as much time with you as I can. We don't know what the future holds, but we can do something with the present."

I stepped back a little, not wanting her to think that my love wasn't genuine. I had a hard time explaining how I felt without having it sound like lines soldiers throw around at tavern wenches.

"I mean, if you're not ready, we don't have to, I just care about you _so much_ that I want us to share this."

She pondered it for a few moments, looking everywhere but at me. They were excruciating seconds. She finally met my gaze. "I agree."

"You what?" I asked, incredulous.

"I agree, Alistair. I love you, and I'm ready."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, putting her hand in my sweaty palm. We walked upstairs, quietly escaping the dancers swirling around us.


	27. Hesitance

CHAPTER 26

They entered Sarah's room. Alistair shut the door behind them and she waited by the bed, pulling on her shirtsleeves.

"Alistair, I'm nervous," she said quietly.

"I am, too," he admitted, looking at her carefully. "We don't have to do anything that you don't want to..." He stayed by the door.

She smiled and looked at her feet. "Oh, no, I want to, I do..."

She was blushing, but smiling.

He walked over to her slowly, and cupped her face in his hands, kissing her softly. "Are you sure?"

She nodded.

He started un-weaving the small flowers from her hair, kissing her forehead, face, and cheeks as his fingers moved through her braids. She ran her fingers through his hair, caressed the back of his neck, the front of his chest, and unlaced the collar of his shirt. She pealed it away from his chest, exploring his muscles with her hands.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear, kissing her neck and unlacing the back of her dress. Her hands lifted the bottom of his shirt, roaming along his sides, tracing the outline of his abdomen. She lifted his shirt over his head. He felt her breathing heavily as she exhaled warm bursts of air against his neck. He slid her dress forward, wrapping his hands around her arms, pulling the sleeves down, making the dress fall to the floor. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands reaching around her sides, and pulled her next to him, their bodies pushed together, and she clenched his muscular back, one of her legs between his. Her lips found his mouth and kissed him slowly, hesitantly, and he worked his tongue to hers, each of them gasping for air through the embrace.

He felt her stop, and he paused, pulled back and met her eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

She nodded. They locked lips again, her body curving to match his as he leaned her onto the bed, one of his hands pulled her leg around him. He stopped kissing her lips, and moved along her neckline, flitted with her earlobe. Her arms went under his, her hands reaching up and gripping his shoulders. She gasped as he continued pressing his lips along her neckline. He reached under her slip, his hands sliding slowly up her back.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and they both froze, limbs wrapped around each other confusedly. She squeezed his shoulders, and they looked at each other, their eyes wide with surprise.

Another knock. "Mi'lady? Mi'lady?" a servant's voice asked.

Sarah quickly unwrapped her arms and legs from around his body, and he stood up.

"Hide," she hissed, grabbing her robe from the bedpost. She ran her fingers through her hair and took a few deep breaths as she walked to the door. Alistair darted to the washroom and shut the door quietly.

"What is it?" Sarah asked, swinging the door open.

"I-I-I'm sorry, mi'lady, but your hound, he's turnin' our larder upside down, and none of us 'elp can call 'im down." The scullery maid twisted her apron in her hands and stared at the floor.

Sarah reached her hand to the maid's shoulders. "I'm the one who should be sorry, I should have checked on him before...before retiring for the evening. Lead the way, and I will calm him down."

Upon arriving at the kitchen, Sarah carefully escorted the cooks and maids from the room, before locking the door and glaring at Dog.

"What in Andraste's name are you doing? This isn't Highever, you know. We're guests in this house!"

He whined.

"I don't want to hear it. You know better." She scanned the room. "And not even any rats this time. What do you have to say for yourself?"

He hunkered close to the floor, his big brown eyes looking up to her.

"Ugh, okay, I forgive you. Now, help me clean up this mess." Dog had successfully pulled all the salted meat onto the floor, spilled a barrel of grains, and knocked over a pyramid of cheese. This was going to take a while.

"Er, hello?" a voice said outside the locked door.

Sarah smiled to herself, unlatching the door and letting Alistair walk in. He was fully dressed again, with an awkward grin on his face.

"I guess you could use some help," he joked.

"Most definitely," she answered, turning away quickly. It took the three of them a couple of hours to clean up the larder. Once they were finished, Sarah sliced each of them some ham and she and Alistair sat at a small table in the corner while Dog lay at her feet on the floor. Since they were in the kitchen in the middle of the night, they may as well eat. The kitchen staff had already retired, as the party had dwindled about an hour before.

Alistair finished chewing up the last of his portion, and asked, "So what were you thinking about at dinner this evening?"

"Hmm?"

"At dinner, you looked a little distracted."

"I was thinking 'Ah you smell lovely, is that death you're wearing?'" she quoted.

"What the--?"

"I was thinking about our trip into the Kocari Wilds. I was nearly scared out of my wits, we were fighting Darkspwan, and Jorey and Daveth...they were grunting and gasping for breath, just as frightened as I was, if not more, but there you were with snide remarks, even in the heat of battle. You said, 'Ah, you smell lovely, is that death you're wearing?' as you beheaded a Hurlock running right for me. That was the first time I smiled since leaving Highever. You saved my life, and made me laugh."

"That's what I'm here for," he grinned from across the table.

She stretched out her arm on the table, and he took her hand. She lay her head on her arm and shut her eyes.

Alistair didn't notice at first, but Dog nudged his foot, and Alistair realized she had fallen asleep.

He lifted her into his arms and carried her back to her room. He lay her on the bed, and was preparing to place the covers over her when she screamed and grabbed his arm, sitting up straight in the bed, her eyes wide with fear and her short fingernails digging into his skin.

He knelt by the bed and stroked her hair, and she loosened her grip and lay back.

"A dream?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Are you still having dreams? I haven't had any for a long time, I assumed that you weren't either." He watched her face worriedly.

She shook her head and swallowed slowly. "I haven't had any since the gauntlet, but before then I kept having the same dream every night, and I had it again."

"What happened?" he asked slowly, his voice low.

She didn't speak at first, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath before she answered. "All of us are in a craggy valley, you, me, Morrigan, Sten, all of us. Then, the archdemon descends, and we swarm him, but one by one he kills everyone. He throws them onto cliffs and swipes them with his tail, one by one. First Morrigan, then Shale, then Zev, then Leliana, then Wynne, then Sten. You and I stand in front of the beast, ready to attack, and he lurches down and clenches his..." she paused and stifled a sob, "...then he clenches his teeth around you, shaking his head, and your body just hanging there, lifeless...and then I wake up."

"Maker..." Alistair breathed, pained to see her face covered in such fear. He imagined if the dream had been reversed, if he had to watch _her_ die, and his stomach clenched in fear.

She continued, "I felt the life go out of me, as if my soul had been ripped away."

"And you dreamed this more than once?"

She nodded. He didn't know what to say. He could console her, tell her that something this heartwrenching would never happen, that everything would be all right. But they both knew that wasn't true, that anything could happen, one or both of them could die, any time. So, he just sat on the floor next to her bed and held her hand. He silently cursed the Darkspawn and the archdemon for causing this much pain even when they were miles away. And he was awfully confused by fate, who seemed to toy with his heart by bringing him the love of his life and repeatedly threatening to take her away. And right before he drifted off to sleep, he cursed the blasted Mabari for ruining their night, because for at least another day, the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden were still virgins when neither one of them wanted to be.


	28. Boys Will Be Boys

_*Sarah*_

CHAPTER 27

I woke just before dawn, wondering how I had made it to my bed. The last thing I remembered was sitting in the larder with Alistair and Dog, and before that...I smiled and sunk back under the covers, recalling the previous activity in this room. I had to do a double take, trying to remember just how far things had progressed. I didn't think we had actually made love, but how did I end up in my bed? Then, I realized that I was still wearing my robe, and that I was alone, or at least I thought I was.

I heard a loud snore, but I didn't see anyone else in the room. I looked in the floor. Alistair was slumped against the nightstand, his head leaning on the side of the bed and his arms folded across his chest. I smiled. He had spent the night with me, and he was so coy as to not even lay next to me in the bed without my permission. I felt bad for him, and wondered how he could sleep on the stone floor, sitting against wooden shelf.

I decided to give him a pleasant good morning to make up for the uncomfortable night he'd spent on the floor. I slid out from the covers, moving slowly so as not to wake him until just the right moment. I sat down next to him facing the opposite way so that our torsos were in line, but our legs reached in opposite directions. I rested my hand against his cheek and kissed his lips softly, and ran the fingers of my other hand through his hair.

He jerked suddenly, brushing my hands away from his head. "Don't touch the hair, elf!" he hissed. He opened his eyes, which were angry and defensive before softening into a grin. "Oh, it's you."

"Good morning, dear," I joked.

"Morning," he replied in a gravelly voice.

I leaned over in front of him and pecked his mouth again. "Why in the world did you sleep on the floor?"

He rubbed his hand on the back of his head and blinked a few times before answering. "I didn't want to...bother you."

"You are beyond belief," I grinned. "I see that some of that chantry gentle-manliness stuck pretty well."

He gave me a half-smile, squinting his eyes as the sunlight peaked its way through the window. I stood up, and reached down to help him off the floor. He took my hand and rose slowly, reaching for his lower back, and wincing a little.

"Does your back hurt?" I asked, assuming that he must be a little sore considering how he slept.

Then, a smile flashed across his face, and he pressed his hand against my back, instead, and dipped me into a kiss. He pulled me upright again, and wrapped his arms around me.

I smiled, "I'm guessing the chantry didn't teach that."

"Well, I wasn't the best student, so I can't really remember," he teased.

"I see. Well, you better brush up on your lessons because we're meeting with Eamon in an hour, and you're still wearing the same clothes you were at the party." I traced his shirt collar, running my fingers along his neck.

He closed his eyes and blushed. "So, it's the walk of shame, I guess, although we didn't really..."

It was my turn to blush. "No, but we came close..."

"We did," he drawled, running his hand along my side.

I pulled away, certain this couldn't continue much longer if either one of us expected to walk around the castle with any sense of decency. "Off with you, Ser Templar, I'm a lady and you should not be in my room." I turned away, pointing to the door, watching him out of the corner of my eye. He gave a gentlemanly bow before opening the door and slipping out.

***

The meeting with Eamon was more heated than I could have imagined. It was as if he had decided what we were going to do, and only _pretended_ to want my opinion. Alistair was right, Eamon was adamant about putting him forward as the rightful king of Ferelden. I knew that Alistair didn't want that, and I said as much, probably sounding like an insolent child when I did so. Logically, though, Alistair was already committed to the Grey Wardens, was in fact, half of the Grey Wardens left in Ferelden, so why should he be expected to run the kingdom, as well? And, Eamon wanted to call a Landsmeet, to give Loghain an opportunity to hand over the regency. While I admired Eamon's optimism, I hardly expected Loghain to concede on anything, let alone giving up his power, and admitting he betrayed Cailin. I didn't want an all out war, but I didn't see diplomacy getting us very far, either.

So, by the end of the meeting I was more than a little miffed. I decided that some combat training was in due order, both for my frustration and for the members of our party who had been dormant for the better part of two weeks. I called my companions to an empty section of the training ground. We did some warmups individually, each of us sparring with dummies. I left Morrigan and Wynne to their own devices, concluding that I knew nothing about magic, only how it would fit into strategy. After our warmups, I tried different combinations, pairs, trios, and Shale was a good sport, actually seeming to delight in being used as a battering ram.

I began to realize that my stealth would not be a very good defense against the Darkspawn or the archdemon, given that they could sense the taint easily. I definitely need to learn to fight in the open. I devised a plan. I had Shale play the part of the archdemon, using his arms to swoop down and pummel me as I maneuvered. Then I chose Zevran to fight me, since our styles were similar, he could predict how I would move.

We began, each of us dodging Shale's swooping fists, ducking under his legs, sparring and avoiding each other. At one point I even leaped onto one of Shale's arms to attack Zev from above. Then, something strange happened. I started to be able to actually sense Zevran moving behind me, I could literally see the aim of his stabs, the direction of his footwork, and I dodged him successfully. When I went on the offensive, I went after him with force rather than agility, I moved low to the ground, putting the full strength of my weight behind each blow. I didn't normally move like that, yet somehow I knew exactly which movements and positions to use.

I stopped the exercise, breathless but intrigued as to how I was able to be so intuitive.

Zevran stood beside me, smirking. "When did you start fighting like a warrior?" he asked.

"I didn't..." and then I saw Alistair, who had been watching the match closely. "Alistair, what were you thinking while you were watching that?"

"Hmm?" he said.

"While we were sparring, what were you thinking?"

He looked confused. "What kind of question is that?"

I groaned, "Just tell me what you were thinking while Zev and I were fighting."

"Ok," he began. "At first, I thought you were crazy for actually letting an assassin be your sparring partner. Then I watched him come at you from every angle possible, hoping you would move in the right direction to avoid him. And then, I was thinking of ways of taking him down."

"Really?" I said?

"Really."

This was just too intriguing to not investigate. "Ok, this is going to sound weird, but let's try something. Zev, I'm going to tie a blindfold over my eyes and I want you to attack me. Alistair, you watch, and think of how you would defend yourself if you were me."

Alistair shifted, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Trust me," I answered.

I took a weapons cloth from a nearby stand and tied it around my head. "Okay, Zev, hit it."

"With pleasure," he said.

The same thing again. Even blindfolded, I knew exactly what movements Zevran was making, and I was compelled to push him to the ground instead of evade his maneuvers. I braced myself and charged, meeting him exactly where I sensed he was. He fell to the ground, and I whipped the blindfold away.

"Oh, Andraste, that was flipping amazing!" I shouted. "Do you see what's happening, Alistair? I can almost read your mind. I knew exactly where he was because you were concentrating so hard. I'm guessing you were praying at every second that I wouldn't be killed, right?"

He nodded.

"So that's why I felt like pummeling him instead of evading him. Maybe this taint thing isn't such a bad idea after all."

We tried it again, and reversed the situation. I stood by as Alistair sparred with Sten, and it had the same effect. However, it only worked if we really focused on the other person. For instance, if my mind wondered somewhere else, even just a little, if I thought of something other than Alistair in the exercise, we lost it.

Then I had another idea. I had everyone else spar against the two of us. It was amazing, we kept tabs on each other, at every instance we knew what the other was thinking, doing, and seeing. Even against Shale, Sten, Zevran, and Dog, we fared pretty well.

It was nearing dinner time, and we stood in a circle in the clearing.

Sten spoke, "Perhaps you Wardens are more skilled than I gave you credit for."

"Yes," Zevran answered, "I'd never accept another contract on you, no matter the reward."

I smiled, this was some kind of breakthrough. "All right, good job guys. That's all for today. I feel very confident about our chances traveling west now." I was grinning from excitement, preparing to walk back to the castle, when I felt my face flush. I looked over at Alistair and he was grinning mischievously. Yes, he was concentrating a lot on something, and it wasn't fighting.


	29. The Templar and the Lady

**The Templar and the Lady  
**_*Alistair*_

* * *

I couldn't sleep. I laid in that huge bed by myself, the fire flickering against the wall. I felt incomplete, somehow, as if something was missing. Or more accurately, that _someone_ was missing. And I was restless. After the excitement from the night before, I suppose sleeping alone in my own bedchamber was a little lackluster.

I thought, perhaps, she would invite me into her room for the night, but she didn't. I didn't want to press the matter, we both considered IT a very big deal, and trying to move in that direction if she wasn't ready didn't feel right.

I stared at the ceiling in frustration. I'd much rather be back on the floor next to her than in a soft bed alone.

I heard a light tap on my door, and it opened slowly.

"Alistair?" a voice whispered.

I jumped up from under the covers. "Sarah?" I walked quickly to the door and pulled it open

She looked up at me with a half smile. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," I ushered her in and closed the door behind her, remembering to lock it. I eyed her silhouette, barely making out her face as she looked at me. She had her robe tied tightly around her, but I spied the collar of her nightgown peaking out at her neck. Her hair hung loosely around her face. She shuffled from one foot to the other, and her eyes kept glancing at my face and then staring down at the floor

"I couldn't sleep," she explained. "I was wondering if, if...I could stay with you?"

"Where's Dog?" I asked, taking a small step towards her

She giggled. "Locked up in the kennel."

It was fleeting but I saw an image she flashed to me, trying to re-harness the connection we made earlier that day. It was a strange feeling, knowing we could communicate like that. It seemed to work really well in battle, but as we gazed at each other, the messages were blurry and almost indecipherable. I guess the taint only works some ways.

She stepped closer to me, and rested her hand on my arm. Her fingers were cold, and I shivered slightly.

"Sorry," she said. "I'm a little chilly."

I wanted to be suave and say something like, "Then let me warm you up," but I didn't. I was so unsure about us. I didn't want to mess up, I didn't want to do or say the wrong thing. But I longed to be close to her, it was an urge more powerful than anything I've ever felt. It wasn't just physical, I felt like my soul was breaking if she weren't near me, and if she were near me, I needed us to be even closer.

"Alistair, you're trembling," she observed. Her fingers wrapped around my arm, and she shifted closer.

My heart hammered away furiously. This was it, no more interruptions. Just the two of us. I was more ready for this moment than anything else, but a breathy "I love you," was all I could muster.

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me softly. That was all it took, I couldn't hold back anymore. It wasn't something I usually did, but I took charge.

She exhaled quickly when I leaned forward. I pressed my lips against her mouth, deepening our kiss. My hands found the belt of her robe, and I untied it slowly. I reached my hand to her shoulders and slid the robe off her arms and onto the floor. Her hands slipped under my shirt; her chilled fingers caressed my chest and then gripped my waist. I broke our kiss and searched her face. Instantly, she took the opportunity to lift my shirt over my head and throw it to the side. She leaned in for another kiss, and I complied. I placed one hand against the back of her head, losing my fingers in her silken hair. My other hand pressed against the small of her back. She yielded to my lead, molding her body to mine. We stopped kissing and locked eyes in the darkness.

"Are you ready, Alistair?" she whispered.

I nodded, without reserve.

We had been here before, just the previous night, but this was different. We weren't hesitant, or scared anymore, nor were we so voracious as to grasp at each other frantically. Instead, it was an exploration, our lips, hands, arms, legs, bodies working with each other, finding ways to fit together, to interlock, to become one. We breathed steadily and moved slowly. My hands gripped her hips. The soft, thin fabric of her gown moved slightly at my touch. I ran my hands along her hips, following the gown down her legs until I reached its hem at her knees. I lifted it slowly, watching as each new part of her was revealed. Her thighs, then her white panties, her strong stomach, her naked breasts. Almost instantly, she pressed herself against me, her hands squeezing my lower back. Her lips grazed my earlobe.

"I love you," she whispered. Her hands followed my waistline, around my hips and then to the drawstring of my pants. She untied it quickly and pulled them to the floor. I stepped out of them, and kissed her again. She draped her hands over my shoulders and I gripped her sides, one of my hands planted firmly against her faint scar; the same scar that had made me realize that she was more than just another Grey Warden, more than just a friend.

We stopped kissing, and she wrapped her legs around my waist. I carried her over to the bed, our foreheads pressed together. Her hot breath met mine between our faces. Sweat began forming on my skin as I laid her onto the mattress.

My hands pressed into the mattress beside her shoulders. My lips pressed into her neck, she leaned her head back, releasing tiny gasps as my mouth roamed along her skin. I moved lower, her collarbone, then her breastbone. Her hands flashed before me and they grasped at her panties. I looked up to find her eyes narrowed and her mouth open. I leaned back and lifted my hands from the mattress and slid my fingers beneath her underwear. She unwrapped her legs and I slid the small garment along her thighs, her knees, her calves, and finally her pointed feet. Her heels dug into the mattress and she let out a tiny moan. Suddenly, her dexterous fingers were laced into the elastic of my underpants. She sat up, pressing her chest against mine, and pushed my underwear to my knees. I fumbled to get them completely off, and to my surprise, she squeezed my behind. Then, she laid back down and I leaned down as well. She lifted her head slightly to watch me.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. I glanced down to see that my erection was poking into her leg. I looked up to her to find her eyes wide. Both of her hands leaped up to grab my shoulders and she pulled me closer. "Now, Alistair, now," she whispered. For a brief instant I saw and felt what she did, an almost identical need to be closer. I kissed her again, one hand planted into the bed, the other below my waist guiding us together. I slid into her easily and her warmth shrouded over me, like she had only meant for me to enter. Suddenly she gasped and let out a loud moan. Her back arched and her fingertips dug into my skin. I began thrusting instinctively, first slowly, then gradually faster.

I groaned loudly, and she released a little whimper that almost sounded like she was in pain. I cupped her cheek. "Do you need me to stop?" I managed through breathless whispers.

She shook her head, and then leaned up to kiss me again. Her hands gripped my shoulders as I continued moving rhythmically above her. Our mouths kept relocking in brief kisses, each of us desperate to experience the other as much as possible. She laced her fingers through my hair, our foreheads touched, and she arched her back, in time with my movements. She seemed to moan with each thrust, even through our kissing. Each time she was louder. Soon I found myself groaning with her, the sensations between us mounting with each passing second. We locked lips again, I pressed her head into the pillows, and her lips and tongue reached for mine. Another moan, more insistent and louder than the others. I groaned again, echoing her. Our lips released, and we breathed together, quick gasps for air. Another thrust. She clenched her jaw, and her green eyes gazed at me, before clamping shut. I watched her face grow tense right before she moaned again, her hands squeezing my shoulders. Her breathing slowed, her grip on my shoulders loosened, and her body relaxed. I thrust again, and her back arched. My hands pressed into the mattress, my eyes closed, and then I felt all the pulsations become one throng of pleasure. I groaned loudly, my voice going hoarse as breath escaped me. My elbows bent slightly, and I opened my eyes to find hers. She pressed her fingers into my back again, and she pulled herself up to plant another lingering kiss on my lips. My breathing slowed and my arms grew weaker. She wrapped her arms around my chest, and I lowered myself beside her. She turned over, her naked body still pressed up against mine. I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. Her skin was cold, the chilled sweat causing her to shiver against me. I reached the covers over us and she rested her head against my arm.

"Now you're trembling," I whispered, brushing strands of hair from her face.

She looked at me again, and I don't know how long we watched each other before falling asleep. I didn't want to let go of her, not ever again.


	30. The Morning After

**Chapter 30  
The Morning After**

* * *

I stirred awake, feeling save and warm. Instead of shuffling against bedsheets, my body grazed another, that of Alistair. _My Alistair. _He was still asleep beside me, lying on his back, one arm outstretched across the bed, the other still clutched around my shoulders. His breathing was deep and slow, a comforting rhythm in the large unfamiliar room. Though he was still sleeping, I sheepishly ducked my head under the covers to watch his torso expand and contract with each breath. He was gorgeous, every muscle conditioned to perfection, every part of him moving in a mesmerizing dance. I glanced a little lower and blushed. We had done it. It. The big i-t. According to Nan, I should have felt guilty and sinful, but I did not. I was elated. The memories of the previous night were still sinking into my body. His touches were so gentle, more than I ever expected from one so strong. And when I felt him inside of me...it was more than I could have imagined. Suddenly, I felt his grip on my shoulder tighten and my body grew tense.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

I jerked the covers from over my head. "Nothing," I answered sheepishly.

He rolled onto his side and wrapped his other arm around me. Our eyes met and our noses were almost touching. "Good morning, my love."

I don't know why, but I blushed and continued grinning like an idiot. He unwrapped one arm from around my waist and brushed away the locks of hair that fell into my face. "Well, whatever you were doing, it's seemed to have made you very happy," he observed.

I nodded. I leaned my head forward and kissed his nose.

"So..." he whispered, briefly looking away before meeting my eyes once more. "How was it for you?"

My smile faded but I draped my arm around him. "It was..." I glanced up to the ceiling before looking at him again. He looked as if he feared disapproval. I took a deep breath. "It was a little painful..."

"Oh," he breathed. "I'm so sorry..."

I shook my head and smiled. He wasn't taking my meaning. "No, Alistair, it's supposed to be painful for a woman her...her first time."

His hand touched my cheek. "I never wanted to hurt you. I didn't know...I never know about these things."

I turned my head to kiss his palm. I smirked and leaned closer to him. "I imagine next time it will be better...now that the stage is set, so to speak." I paused. "And I'm so glad it's with you Alistair. I couldn't have imagined a better way to do that. You were so careful, and concerned. I felt so loved at every turn...and...how was it for you?"

Despite our closeness, he blushed. "Oh, Maker, it was amazing. I'd expected to be struck dead this morning." He lowered his voice and ran his fingers through my hair. "I am glad we waited, but after last night, I don't think I could ever let you out of my sight again." He pressed his forehead against mine. "And you are loved, Sarah Cousland." His hold on me tightened and I relaxed into his arms.

"So are you, Alistair Theirin." Then, at that very instant, my stomach erupted into a loud growl.

Alistair widened his eyes and smiled. "A growing girl, indeed."

I raised my eyebrows and batted my eyelashes. "Well, it appears, Ser Templar, that you can't meet my _every _need."

His smile faded. "But I shall try, my lady, as long as I am able."

I kissed his chest and pulled him closer. I had no doubt he would keep his promise.

* * *

It was to be our last day at Redcliffe, and I had one more order of business to take care of.

I found Sten in the study. "Sten, I need you to walk down to the village with me to plan some geographical tactics. Alistair told me you've been studying the military history of the area, and I think some firsthand surveying is a good idea."

He set down the book he was reading. "As you wish."

I led him out of the castle and down to the village. I didn't really have plans to survey the area, but I knew it was a simple excuse to get the Qunari to follow me. We made our way through the yard before the chantry, and climbed the residential docks. I found Dwyn's door, and knocked.

When the dwarf finally let me in, I said, "I believe you have something that belongs to my friend here."

Dwyn, in his usual off-handedly aggressive manner, responded, "So what if I do?"

"Then, I'll pay you handsomely for it, or Sten here could pound your head in."

"All right, all right, here's the key to my lockbox, the giant's sword is in there."

I left Sten by the door, as I unlocked the chest, taking out a giant blade, and for good measure, everything else in the chest. The sword was heavy, and I had to lift it with two hands.

"Is this it?" I asked Sten.

"Asala," he said. "Yes, Warden, it is mine."

I gave Dwyn a terse thanks and tossed the key at him as we left the house. Once outside, I stopped Sten.

"So, can you tell me what's so important about this sword, Sten?"

"In the Qunari tongue, 'asala' means 'soul'. This sword was made especially for my hands. As a member of the Berasaad, it is as vital to me as your fellow Warden is to you."

I blushed and looked away. Even Sten knew. "Well, that brings a whole new meaning to 'polishing your sword,'" I mumbled. Thankfully, Sten didn't hear me, he was so intent on examining the weapon. "I can understand that, Sten, I think."

He sheathed the weapon and looked at me closely. "You truly must be a Grey Warden to find one lost blade in a country at war."

I smiled. "Sten, I'm glad we found it. You have pledged your oath to fight by my side, and I owed you at least this much."

We walked back to the castle in silence, and I hopped on my toes and skipped the whole way. I was reveling in the past few days' happiness. We had the alliance of Redcliffe, the Circle, and the Dalish. Each of my companions was still with me, and even Zevran seemed to be dedicated to the cause. After our talk in the woods, he had been kind and considerate, and extra helpful. These were all good things, but I would be lying if I didn't tell you if the real reason I was dancing around on my toes was an ex-Templar turned Grey Warden, who, like Sten had aptly inferred, had captured my soul.


	31. Wisdom?

CHAPTER 30

Wynne was worried. She'd had her suspicions, and now they were confirmed. She didn't realize just how _close_ Sarah and Alitair had become until they left Redcliffe. And now she watched them. At least Sarah was trying to make it look like nothing. She didn't touch him, or look at him for very long. But every so often, her body would face his in a very particular way. Or, her attempts to not look at him forced her to turn in the opposite direction, with an obvious smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

But, Alistair, Maker help him, was not as secretive. He would lean over her, would stand and move so close to her than Wynne could swear she saw sparks jump between them. And he gazed, he stared, he watched his fellow Warden incessantly, his eyes always glazed over, and some version of a lurid grin on his face.

Wynne knew, _knew_ that this could not end well. After all, he was going to be king, and they were both Grey Wardens. And Alistair was so...innocent and naive, he couldn't see it. But Sarah, she should know better. The otherwise capable leader did not think this through. Perhaps it was only logical that the two had become _close_. Yes, it was perfectly natural, but that didn't make it necessary. They could become distracted, for one, could lose sight of the larger mission. Or, it could end badly of its own causes, lovers' quarrels and such. Where would they be then, the last two Wardens in Ferelden? It was leaving too much to chance to let it continue. Wynne had to say something.

After dinner, she and Sarah washed the dishes.

"The two of you have become quite close," Wynne began.

Surprise flashed across Sarah's face before she set her jaw and answered. "I guess you could say that."

"Well, I find myself a little...concerned."

Sarah wasn't sure how to respond, she scrubbed the plate in her hand much harder than she needed to. "Why is that?"

"I am worried that Alistair may get hurt."

Sarah stopped scrubbing and looked at the mage. "I would never hurt Alistair," she said softly.

Wynne waved her hand. "Not intentionally, no. But he is young, naive even, and he's heir to the throne."

"We're just taking it one day at a time," Sarah lied.

"You have more than yourselves to think of. You are both Grey Wardens."

Sarah set down her rag and leaned her hand against a nearby boulder. "And what does one have to do with the other?" She didn't like being mean to Wynne, but the mage's words had angered her.

Wynne mirrored her movements and faced Sarah. "The time may come when one or both of you will have to choose between your…love and your duty."

Sarah took a deep breath. "Then we'll deal with it when that time comes."

"Why not deal with it now before he becomes too attached?"

"Attached? You mean I should end it with him now to prevent pain later? Great logic."

"Well, I have given my opinion, do with it what you will."

They finished washing the dishes in silence. Sarah was angry. She didn't ask for Wynne's opinion and she didn't want it. What business was it of Wynne's anyway? She and Alistair were fine, there was no conniving on either side, no secret plot to hurt the other. There was only love, and a bit of sex. Ok, maybe more than a little bit, but it was only a reflection of that love and not in any way designed to hurt anyone, right?


	32. Tentsion

_*Sarah_*

CHAPTER 31

After washing the dishes I bathed in the nearby creek and changed into a simple pants and shirt. I didn't have watch tonight, and I didn't feel the need to wear my armor. And, to be honest, I was hoping I wouldn't be wearing the clothes that much longer either. But it was a passing hope. Wynne had really irked me. I refused to listen to her, or even consider what she was saying. How could she think that I would hurt Alistair? Did she think me some plotting harlot?

I resolved to pretend she hadn't said anything. I realized, though, that my and Alistair's relationship was common knowledge now, despite my trying to appear normal in public. I wasn't sure what the camp etiquette would be. Alistair and I had spent all three nights in Redcliffe together. The first I fell asleep in the larder, and he carried to my room and slept in the floor. The second, we made love in his room, and the third he followed me to my room, and without even discussing it awkwardly or staring off to the side with nervous glances, we came together again.

But now we were at camp. I wondered if I was perhaps overly eager. If I thought my desire for Alistair was strong before we made love for the first time, then the way I felt now was beyond imagination. Whenever the sun began to set, I could think of little else than pressing my body against his, my hands roaming across his muscles. But this was camp, where everyone could hear every little noise.

Camp. I couldn't be quiet, I knew. Desire piqued in me so much that I knew I couldn't be too close to him without pulling him on top of me and experiencing him again, and inadvertently sharing that experience with anyone who was within earshot of our tent.

I resolved to sleep by the fire. I went over to my pack to pull out my bedroll, a little relieved to think that the rest of my companions would see me sleep alone, perhaps thwarting their suspicions just a little, maybe pacifying Wynne somewhat. However, I couldn't find my blankets, or my bedroll, or my pillow.

"I believe that someone has taken your sleeping supplies into the woods," said Zevran as he swept behind me and then stood in front of me. He was grinning, and folded his arms across his chest.

"That someone wouldn't be you, would it?"

"Oh, no, I am ashamed to admit I did not think of something so simply...presumptuous.

I blushed, I know I did.

Zevran didn't wait for another reply. He continued, "And I see that it may have worked," he grinned.

"I-I-um..."

"No, there is no need to explain yourself. I am quite happy for both of you. Well a little happier for your fellow Warden than for you, for it is he that I am jealous of."

"Jealous?"

"Tut, tut, I am unable to explain myself without risking further injury." He winked and tapped his forefinger against the faint scar I had inflicted on him when we were seeking the Dalish. He ran his eyes over me. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, so much....wasted…"

I stood there, trying to see what the elf was playing at, when Alistair emerged through the trees. He rubbed his hand against the back of his head, something he did whenever he was trying to figure out what to do next. He scanned the clearing, taking note that Shale was on watch, that Dog was happily laying by the fire, chewing on a bone. He finally looked at me, and stopped rubbing his head. He put his hand down and walked over.

"Well, I shall bid my captor good night." Zevran bowed dramatically and went to his tent.

Alistair stood next to me and watched the fire. "Hello, lovely evening isn't it?"

"Sure." I paused. "Have you seen my bedroll? I can't seem to find it."

He flashed me a half smile. "I believe I saw it over, here. If you'll follow me."

I walked behind him. He ducked into the woods and led me down a winding path that he had obviously just recently cleared of branches and vines. After about a quarter mile, we came to a small clearing, where there was a fire and a single tent.

"It's in there, I think," he said pointing to the tent. "You can go ahead and get in, if you like...or I can move your things back to the other fire…if you prefer."

I shook my head, "No, I think this will do." I slipped past him and entered the tent. He had placed our two bedrolls next to each other, and draped our blankets over them. It wasn't a luxurious bedchamber in a castle, but the image stopped my heart for a second. Alistair came in behind me, tied the flap shut, wrapped his arms around my waist, and lowered me onto our bed.


	33. His Calendar

CHAPTER 32

He wasn't doing things on schedule. Oh, he would try. He would make mental lists and notations, set aside certain times for this or that, and predict the right moment to bring things up. But somehow, it would never come together. Then, he would find himself frantically assembling pieces for display. It had happened right before they went to Redcliffe for the first time. He waited until the last possible moment to tell her he was King Maric's son. She took it well enough, thank the Maker, she took it in stride, adding the iota to some webbed list of things to remember.

But that was before he knew how she worked. Before he understood how she chewed on new information, picking it apart in her mind, giving it fleeting applications to other information, cataloging it in multiple ways, and always able to remember every location. Now he knew better. He would watch her face, her eyes, and although he did not know exactly what she was thinking, he knew _how_ she was thinking. Part of him liked that, really liked that. Another part didn't like it so much because when he had something difficult to tell her, he would watch those eyes, pupils looking forward, and he would imagine the unsavory way the information made its way through her thoughts. She never reacted without at least some thought. She was contemplative, kneading the information, not to subdue it, but to familiarize herself with its texture.

It was later, when she would express something, when she would give some sort of indication that she had finished cataloging. More and more frequently he was her first audience, the target of her expression. Before he knew her so well, before he _knew_ her, he didn't understand this process. But with every conversation he learned more. He could easily see the gears turning. Most times he saw it as a playful game, a suspenseful eagerness welling in his hopeful heart, which was anxious to know what she was thinking, to learn what she had concluded. He loved it when her eyes would light up right before she devised a new strategy, or thought of a clever way to solve a difficult problem. Like turning Jowan over to the Circle rather than killing him outright or letting him roam free. Or hiding Zevran and Leliana behind Shale when she expected an ambush on the road. Sometimes, though, the expectation and the result were not as invigorating. Like that time she decided to split up the group, or the quiet but insistent solitary remark that he may have to be king. No, he did not enjoy those moments.

And that is why, when she off-handedly mentioned a family, spoke of returning to Highever, if not to the castle then at least to her homeland, that he realized he had skipped another entry in his schedule. When he watched her face light up as she imagined the possibility of restoring the Cousland name in Ferelden, his stomach clenched and his chest tightened. He wished that he could be happy, make note of how once again they were a balanced pair. He was desperate to forget his namesake, but she was passionate about claiming hers. He would never take the lead, but she rose to every occasion thrust upon her. So that is why, when he realized he had forgotten to tell her this one _other_ thing about the taint, that in addition to the fact that she would die before many of her potential grandchildren were born, that she would, in fact, not even have children who would give her grandchildren. And now that he knew how the information would be absorbed, knew that she would press and knead it to pieces before letting it out, knew the painful way it would work into her mind, traveling the deep recesses and intersections of her thoughts, and he could not bring himself to tell her, although he knew he should.

So, instead of correcting her, instead of re-establishing a schedule, he smiled right along with her. The crickets sang in the distance, the fire embers floated around them, letting out an occasional crack as the wood snapped under the pressure of flames. Her face was golden brown, reflecting the orange firelight. And they sat on a log together, just close enough not to touch, she said they couldn't touch when in public, no matter how mundane. Another decision he didn't really like watching come to fruition. But she was smiling, not a goofy sort of smile like when she felt especially amorous, but a genuine smile, a beaming grin. She drew outlines of her home in the dirt, pointing to each room and describing it to him. Horrible time-keeper that he was, he smiled right along with her, nodding in approval as she told him they would name their daughter Alistana and their son Saran.


	34. Mystery

CHAPTER 33

Zevran did not like the cold. In Antiva, it was usually warm, and it never snowed. He wore and detested a fur wrap Sarah had given to him. He noted how it kept his limbs from moving freely, not to mention that it had no buttons or ties, so he had to hold the corners shut with his hands. When she had asked for volunteers to enter Orzammar, he answered, not really sure why. It wasn't likely that the Crows would send someone looking for him near the dwarves. Dwarves didn't hire outside mercenaries. But, "Ah, yes, I will go," he said, de-emphasizing just the right words to make his acquiescence appear mundane.

And now he followed the Wardens and Shale, carefully stepping into the snowy footprints they hand trudged before him. Sarah had asked Shale to take the lead so as to carve them a footpath in the snow. But, the golem's strides were too long, and the span between his feet too wide, that the plan wasn't doing much good. So, Alistair all but hugged the backside of the stone monster, using it to block the blowing wind, and the Templar had to reform the collapsing snow into some sort of trail for Sarah and Zevran. The four of them were bent over in a close line, their heads bowed and only looking up just enough to make sure there was still someone else in front of them.

And Zevran enjoyed the view. His captor had forgone a wrap of her own, and he could not fathom why or how she could stand it. Even so, the skirt of her scale armor clanged rhythmically as she almost hopped into Alistair's footsteps. He didn't really watch her lustfully so much as with fascination. Oh, it had started as lust, as it often does with him, but he wasn't just interested in her hindquarters, front quarters or anything else he found physically captivating, he was fascinated that he didn't understand her.

He had tried, multiple times to bait her into some sort of innuendo-laced dialogue, just to see where it would go. He knew she was witty, and it would be interesting to spar in sexual metaphors. But she didn't. She didn't even get mad at him, or shout in frustration; Zevran had even started to think she was completely oblivious to the meaning behind his euphemisms or that she perhaps did not find sex all that alluring, which was not a pleasant or digestible thought for him.

Then she had asked him to teach her to be an assassin, and he played coy until they were relatively alone in the Brecilian forest, the loquacious bard collapsing from exhaustion and the Mabari content to chew on any bone Zevran could find lying around. To be honest, he really did think he could overpower and outmaneuver her, and he was waiting for the precise moment to strike her to the ground and hover over her, sliding his blades treacherously along her neck. He wasn't really sure what he would do next, he never made it that far. Then she surprised him with a forceful attack, and he fell to the ground. Instead of him leaning over her threatening her life, she was parading around him, giving a lecture.

And he smirked. He couldn't help himself. Perhaps he was impressed with her skills, impressed with her conniving and calculated plot to play dumb and then threaten his life. Oh, he knew she wouldn't kill him, and that made her all the more vexing. He had painted her as some Qunari-like human stone. Her face was always pulled into a taut, stern expression, her voice was even, but not distant. All the usual clues he looked for finding a way in were not there. And as he was falling asleep that night, the same night she drew blood from his face, he heard her quiet sobs by the fire, and he was confused.

Of course, in the next few days he deduced why she was crying, but it was not the reason she was crying that perplexed him, but the way she was crying. She sat on a stone by the fire and struggled to be quiet, tried to calm herself, but she couldn't. Then, when she had finally sobbed herself to exhaustion, she wiped her face, which had its usual expression, as if nothing had happened. And that very glare, the set jaw, the steady eyes, always made him smirk.

He knew that the Templar had ways of making her blush, of having her mouth turn into a grin, of making her laugh, of making her double over with gleeful abandon, of making her skip beside him, her quick, hypnotizing gait juxtaposed against the warrior's steady and monotonous steps. Zevran wondered where this came from. How did the formerly virginal man know exactly how to do this while the worldly wise paramour did not?

So, following some instinctual curiosity, he followed the two of them into the woods, curious to see what no one else did. He watched her stature change as she stood near him, believing that they were alone. Her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and her hands moved around freely. Alistair changed his disposition as well, sinking into his hips, making himself just a little shorter so that they could kiss more easily. Well, Zevran had that part covered, he and the female Warden were the same height, he would not have to change that for her.

Then they disappeared into the tent, so Zevran relied on sound instead of sight, for the small fire was too weak to throw shadows on the canvas. He heard their breathing, normal at first, then welling into a strange chorus of gasping, as if they were even planning how to breathe together. He heard the smack of their lips, and the rustling of blankets. And he heard her. And he smirked. Then, almost as soon as they had begun it was over. Zevran was confused again. So that was it? No intricate foreplay? No magic secret? It was too quick. This warranted further study.

So, Zevran followed her, delighting in the little leaps she took through the snow, every so often reaching forward to steady herself on Alistair's shoulder. The Antivan ran through his own catalog of seduction methods, trying to decide which would be the most effective, should he ever be alone with her again, and close enough to turn his plan into action, if only to see how she would react.

So, when they stopped for lunch, in a tree-covered alcove, Shale and her Templar guarding the perimeter, she handed him a pair of Antivan leather boots, and he wanted to reach out from his fur wrap and pry his hand through the small gaps in her armor. But he realized he wasn't smirking, he was smiling. And so was she as she watched him run his fingers along the footwear's embellishments. And he reached his hand inside them, realizing they were lined with soft, warm insulating cloth. He asked her why she waited until now to give him some winter boots. She smirked and said she forgot she had them.


	35. Happiness

CHAPTER 34

_Alistair muses over his "adventure" so far_

Lucky. Indescribably lucky. Unfathomably happy. Intoxicated on happiness. I lost sleep, I would wake in the middle of the night and watch her for hours. I wore a goofy grin as my eyes traced the contours of her face, her neck, her arms, her legs, her...other areas. That she was next to me was still amazing, that she loved me seemed unreal. I thought it a cruel joke whose punch line was imminent. But, no, here she was nestled against my chest, breathing deeply and slowly, her warm exhalations moistening my skin.

Could completeness like this really exist? It must. It crawled into my body whenever I looked at her, whenever she stood next to me, walked beside me, or brushed her hand across my arm. I felt a warm comfort, a swelling in my chest. Sometimes I felt like hooking myself to her permanently. What had my life been before her, anyway? It was comprised of distant images of structured templar training, raucous buffoonery with other Wardens, and long nights alone.

Then, there she was. Wearing that ill-fitting armor, staring at me as I argued with a mage. I was surprised. She was a woman. And she made a joke, and she said she looked forward to traveling with me. In the Wilds, Jory and Daveth immediately deferred to her, perhaps it was that stern look she had. But she had earned Duncan's praises. I never envisioned that she could wield her blades as expertly as she did. She quickly outshone her fellow recruits.

When it came time for her joining, I became nervous, though I had no reason to be. It was a joining, and one or two of them may not make it. There was nothing surprising about that. I found myself praying that it wouldn't be her. She watched Daveth writhe on the ground between us, trying not to flinch, her jaw set, but her eyes wide with fear. Then, she took the goblet, lifted it to her lips, and drank. I didn't want to watch, I wanted to clog my ears so I wouldn't hear her screams. But she stood up, she survived.

After Ostagar, after Flemeth, there was that night by the fire when I saw her smile for the first time. And she smiled because of me, some off-hand joke I made about the witch. She flippantly waved her hand at my arm, her fingers briefly grazing across my skin, and I felt an unexpected quiver originate at the point of contact. It traveled up my arm, through my chest, until my stomach fluttered and did not settle for a long time.

I wanted that feeling again, so I prolonged our talks by the fire as much as I could. Then we ran out of mundane things to discuss, so we would sit next to each other, both staring into the fire. I imagined an invisible presence radiating between us, some ethereal force sling-shotting around our bodies. I was confused. No one ever spoke to me of love; I had no name for what I felt. Gradually, I found it more and more difficult to leave her side, to say good night and sleep in my tent. When her dreams started, I felt bad, but also a twinge of elated expectation. I offered my hand and she took it, and the quiver returned, each time threatening to morph into a noticeable tremble.

Once, she even leaned her head against my shoulder, too frightened to sleep but too tired to stay awake. I felt a new leap in my chest, something akin to a flutter, but more persistent, more filling, as if my heart literally expanded in order to house this new, tingling sensation, this unnamed power that had latched itself in my skin.

Now, here she was next to me every night, constantly within my reach, willfully spending all of her spare moments with me. I didn't have to make an excuse about the Frostback mountains being so cold that we should bunk together. I didn't have to pretend to want to know her plan. No, she chose to be here, chose to sleep next to me, chose to bristle my chin with her messy brown hair, chose to kiss me every morning as if there were no Darkspawn creeping north. The fleeting stomach flutter, the dissipating quiver was now a constant tingle running through all of my limbs. It was as if I had become too big for my body, as if my soul were so large that it had to bind her against me.

I wrapped my arms more tightly around her, pulling her closer against me. She stirred a little, mumbled "Be still," and kissed my chest.


	36. Ice and Fire

_AN: Some humor from the trek to Orzammar. I hope you like_.

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CHAPTER 35

Sarah stared at the large iced-over lake that spread out before her, and for the first time in many days, she was at a loss for what to do. How a lake had actually formed here was not quite clear. There had been a bridge across it at some time, but now there were two snow-covered wooden posts that attached to nothing. Across the lake was the continuation of the road, and on either side of the water, were craggy, un-climbable cliffs.

_Well_, she reasoned, _it is cold enough that this lake should be fairly solid. We could go back a few miles, I guess, and find a way around the cliffs, but if we did that and a blizzard came, we would surely get lost_.

"Alistair, do we have any rope?" she asked

"Uh, we do, but...what are you thinking? We should just go around it. Surely there's a path somewhere. We can't be the only ones who travel this way."

She didn't answer him. She estimated the lake was about a tenth of a mile from this end to the other. No, it would not be too much of a risk to go across it.

"I don't know why I bother," Alistair mused. "I can tell you've already made up your mind. We're going to cross it, aren't we?"

"Yep."

"All right, all right. What's your plan?"

She didn't answer him, instead she turned to Shale. "How much do you weigh?"

Shale laughed. "It asks how much I weigh. I am made of stone, I doubt it has measurements to describe that."

"Okay," Sarah said slowly. "How do you feel about ice water?"

"It is asking me if I fall into the lake, will I freeze?"

Sarah nodded.

"No, it will not affect me much, this ice water you speak of."

"Excellent."

Sarah eyed the elf next. But decided against it.

"Okay, here's the plan. The three of us," she pointed to herself, Zev, and Alistair, "are going to cross the lake using this rope. I'll go first, since I'm the lightest, then Zev, er, Zevran, then, you, Alistair. Shale, once we're on the other side, you can cross the lake. If it holds, great, if not, I'll get you some new fire crystals in Orzammar."

"Wait," said Alistair. "Why not send the elf first? The way you've been eating lately...he's probably lighter." Alistair was grasping at straws. He didn't like her plan.

Before Sarah could answer him, Zevran explained, "Because, my good friend, she does not wish anyone else to be the first victim, should this plan of hers fail."

While this was exactly her point, she didn't want to admit it. "Because, if one of you fell in, I know I wouldn't be able to pull you out."

Alistair begrudgingly took out the rope, and the three mortals tied themselves together in the order Sarah had arranged.

She stepped tentatively onto the ice, hunkering low to the ground to maintain her balance on the slippery surface. Then, another step, and a third. Yes, the ice was fairly solid. Gradually, she increased her pace until she arrived at the center of the lake. She heard a faint crack, took one more step, and fell in. She lost all sense of who or where she was. She only thought, "Cold!" as she splashed in the freezing water.

___

Zevran heard the crack of the ice, assuming surely their leader would heed the lake's warning and turn back. But she did not. So when he saw her disappear from the surface, his reflexes were primed and he fell catlike onto the ice.

Alistair was concentrating so much on not falling onto his face, that he did not notice his love had actually plummeted into the depths of an ice river. However, when the elf in front of him lurched noiselessly onto the ice, Alistair froze in his tracks and pulled the rope. His feet slid under him, and he fell onto his behind. using the scale plating on his boots to dig his heels into the ice. In front of him, Zevran pulled himself upright, clenching the rope and pulling Sarah from the water. Just as soon as she reached the icy surface, Alistair jumped up, sliding his way over to her.

The elf yanked the rope and pulled the warrior down onto the ice. "You can't run up to her, the ice broke, you idiot," Zevran hissed. Alistair, frightened beyond all reason, listened to the elf, and together, they pulled their frozen leader back to the edge of the lake.

She was shaking uncontrollably. Icicles already forming in her hair and along her eyelashes. Zevran, clearly keeping his wits, threw off his fur wrap and began stripping the wet armor from her body.

"What in Androste's name are you doing?!" Alistair screamed.

Calmly, Zevran replied, "Getting this armor off her before it freezes onto her body."

Alistair, overcome with fear and jealousy, shoved the elf out of the way and blocked Zevran's view of his supine rogue. Alistair was, for an altogether different reason than before, thankful he knew the most efficient way to remove the drake scale armor from Sarah's body. Alistair did not see it, but Zevran had edged his way around the templar and watched the events, and the armor, as they unfolded.

Sarah continued shivering, and tried to speak through chattering teeth.

Alistair found some calm. "Quiet, my love, you will be fine." He stroked her hair and ran his hand along her face.

"Fire!" she managed.

Shale, amused at the nearly tragic, but all too humorous ordeal, deftly broke a young sapling into firewood and cleared away the snow to make a fire.

"Her clothing, too, Alistair," admonished Zevran.

"Don't you watch," spat Alistair as he began stripping Sarah's undershirt, leggings, and...no, he would not take off her panties.

Of course, Zevran watched, his smirk intensifying as the warrior fumbled with his lover's underthings. When Zevran realized that Alistair was still beyond all reason and did not so much as try to cover Sarah's body from the harsh wind, he waited perhaps a little longer than he should have to throw his fur wrap at the templar.

Alistair wrapped the blanket around Sarah's shivering frame, and carried her to the fire. "Lay with me," her teeth clattered.

Alistair, completely unaware, hissed at her, "We're not alone, _dear_."

Zevran could not help himself, he fell to the ground laughing. "Body heat, my good friend. She wants you to lay beside her for body heat."

Alistair glared at the elf before he took off his armor and wrapped himself around the nearly naked leader, trying to quiet her chattering teeth and warm her shaking body.

When Zevran collected himself, he gathered Sarah's armor and clothing, devised a makeshift drying rack using weapons and shields that were supported by the snow.

__

When Sarah woke up, and realized she was warm and next to her love, she punched him in the chest for letting everyone see her underthings. Then she kissed him and asked if they cold move into her tent.


	37. Why me?

_AN: A rather fluffy scene as told from Sarah's POV_

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CHAPTER 36

I woke in the twilight of dawn to find Alistair staring at me. "My love," he crooned.

"Why are you awake?" I asked, snuggling closer to him.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Nightmares?" I said worriedly.

"No." He continued to watch my face. "Just the opposite, actually."

"What then?"

"You," he drawled. He ran his hand along my side. "Do you really love me?"

"Why? What do you want?"

He smiled, "No, nothing like that. I mean, do you actually love me? I can't seem to believe that it's true."

"I've only said it thousands of times."

His smile faded. "I can't believe you love me," he said breathily.

"Why not? Here I am, here you are, I thought it was pretty obvious."

"You are..." he stroked my face, "amazingly beautiful. And you care so much for everyone, even Shale, it seems. So, why me? Why do you love me? I still can't believe it."

I wrapped my hand around his waist. "Well, you are sexy," I whispered. "And I don't think kissing Shale would be quite as...rewarding."

I felt his body shudder slightly.

"I don't know _why_ exactly. Who does? Why do people fall in love?"

He didn't seem satisfied with that answer.

"I know that I feel...whole with you. Like, until we met there was something missing. I feel I'm attached to you permanently, that we are in synch..." I paused and took a deep breath. "Alistair, if you weren't with me, I think I would crumble."

"Hm, thanks."

"You're going to make me say it aren't you? Okay, here goes." I rested my hand on his cheek and locked eyes with him. "I don't even want to _breathe_ unless I know you're with me. And, when we..." I still blushed at the thought, "when we make love, I feel like part of me leaps out and clings to you, and that, part of you leaps out and clings to me. So that the more we're together, the more intertwined we become so it's almost like we are one. Is that too cheesy? I'm sure it is..."

He smiled and kissed me slowly, waiting entirely too long to open his mouth so our tongues could touch.

He pulled back and grinned goofily. "Did I ever tell you how much I like cheese?"

_Only a million times_, I thought.

He stroked my cheek again. "Can you do me one favor?"

"What's that?"

"Don't ever leave me again."

"Again? When did I leave you the first time? The Dalish?"

He stopped caressing my cheek and just looked at me. "No, when you were hurt, when we all thought you might die...I...I...realized that I loved you."

"Alistair, that was weeks before we even kissed. And you never said anything? Until I said 'I love you' first? Why?"

"I never thought you'd say it back," he whispered. His face was so sad that I thought _I_ was going to cry.

"My love, I promise, I won't ever leave you again, not if I can help it. I'm here for good, until assassins or archdemons take me."

"Don't say that," he said sharply. "Don't even joke like that."

He kissed me hard, grabbing the back of my head to push our lips together, as if he feared I would slip away if he loosened his grip.

So I kissed him back and pressed myself next to him. I whispered in his ear, "I'm here to stay. I love you, until the end, far off as it may be."


	38. Lost

CHAPTER 37

The Deep Roads frightened me. As soon as we crossed the threshold, the suffocating smell of death was overwhelming. There was no hope of a breeze or fresh air, just an unavoidable, compressing stench. I felt like I had to learn to breathe again. We were exposed, despite the twists and turns of the caverns, the darkened corners could hide so many creatures that nowhere felt safe. And the Darkspawn. Before we even met any, I felt the taint pulsing through my veins, as if it were calling home, threatening to boil over my skin and beckon to its brethren.

Even without the taint, Zevran was on edge, mummuring about ambushes, darkness, and the cold. Shale did not seem to mind it much and reasoned that birds would have no place in these caverns. Oghren, the oafish tag-along kept going on about old taigs, and while he was steeped in "history," he didn't really have any idea where we were going.

I had hoped we would be in and out of this place quickly, but in addition to the Darkspawn, there were tiny, ethereal lizards who swarmed us by the hundreds, and large, hairy, slimy spiders who fell from the ceiling and attacked without warning. That and Harrowmont's obsolete maps forced us to camp.

Because of the Darkspawn, Alistair and I decided to take turns keeping watch. We made a small fire in an alcove. Oghren fell asleep rather quickly, his drunken snores ruining any hope of stealth. Zevran didn't even lie down, instead he propped himself up against the walls, blades in hand, and dozed. Shale roamed the perimeter, claiming there was something familiar about the place and he wanted to investigate it. My attempts at having him help keep watch were brushed off.

Alistair took the first shift. I laid out my bedroll along the wall opposite Zevran and fell asleep. When I woke up, I knew it was well past my time to relieve Alistair, but he had never come to get me. I rolled out of bed and picked up my blades, and went to tell him to get to sleep.

I didn't see him at his post or anywhere near the camp. My heart started to race and my stomach churned.

"Alistair?" I said.

Nothing.

A little louder, "Alistair."

Nothing.

A shout, "Alistair!"

Nothing.

"Alistair, come out, where are you!?" My hands were shaking.

Nothing.

"Alistair!" I screamed.

Zevran rushed up to my side. "What is it?"

"Alistair," I heaved, "I can't find him." I felt like my ears were clogged, my head was spinning. "I can't find Alistair," I repeated desperately.

Zevran put his hand on my back. "Did you see anything? Any footprints, or blood, or anything like that?"

"B-b-b-blood?"

"Sarah, you need to calm down."

"I can't find him. Why can't I find him? He should be right here. Why didn't he wake us if something was wrong? Why didn't we hear anything?"

Zevran moved in front of me and gripped my shoulders. He looked straight at me. "We will find him, but you need to pull it together."

I took a few deep breaths, shaking a little as I exhaled. Suddenly, my mind was flooded with images. I shut my eyes. Bare hands, bare feet, bare arms, bare torso. Webs. Venom. An empty cavern clearing, trembling. A flood of Darkspawn. Then nothing.

Zevran shook me softly. "What is it? Did you see something?"

"S-s-spiders," I muttered. "Spiders and Darkspawn and black."

"Well, that narrows it down to the entire area. Good work."

I grabbed his arm. "We have to find him!"

"We will," Zevran said turning away. He nudged the dwarf with his foot. "Oghren, get up. We are moving."

I paced the area. Why the blackness? Why spiders and Darkspawn? I gripped my Warden's Oath and took a few deep breaths. _Look for clues,_ I told myself. I studied the dirt ground, but I had shuffled around so much that any clues were dismantled. I extended the perimeter. There were tiny footprints, yes, definitely a spider. Then, I found some webbing, it was sticky, and cold. I went around the corner, and I saw my father's shield and Alistair's sword, which had been thrown against the wall. _Follow the footprints._ I did. Because they were small, it was confusing trying to read a path from the dirt. But, I deduced that only one or two spiders had been here. _That's good, right? He can fight off two spiders._

Zevran and Oghren caught up with me.

"The spiders have him," I said flatly. I felt some calm. "He may still be alive."

"Well, let's go," said Zevran.

I followed Zev, trying to push the image of a dead Templar out of my mind.


	39. Captured!

CHAPTER 38

*_Alistair*_

They came out of nowhere, their clipping steps and venom-soaked teeth. Before I could move, one of them webbed me, and I dropped my sword and shield. The other bit me numerous times, the venom pulsing through my veins, mixing with the taint in a paralysis-inducing swirl. I tried to shout, but my voice was muffled. I tried calling to her, but I was too weak. The arachnids spun me in a tight web, some of the the sharp crystalline silk strands finding their way under my armor and clothes and cutting my skin. The lifted me and carried me away, moving up into the ceiling. I blacked out.

When I came to, I had been stripped of my armor and my clothes, save a thin pair of trousers I wore under my bracers and my Warden's Oath. It was completely dark around me, and I groped around for clues. I was caged, and I couldn't find any sort of latch. I felt abrasions all along my body, and one laceration along my chest that had been hastily covered with a bandage.

Suddenly, I heard the tapping footsteps of the spiders. It was too dark for me to see, I listened, bracing myself to spring whenever one of them got close enough. Then, I felt four venomous teeth sink into my back, and I couldn't move. No webbing this time, but they unlatched the cage and juggled me on their heads, as if I were a rag doll, their screeches deafening my ears. They stopped tossing me, and one of them carried me. I felt the air pressure change; we were in a larger room than before. The spider tossed me onto the ground, and the herd scampered away.

I lay on the cold, stone floor, still unable to move. Then, I felt them, at least ten Darkspawn creeping nearer; they were drawn in by the taint. They came, closer, and closer, their death-like smell intensifying as they drew near me. I thought this was it, that I was going to be killed by Darkspawn and spiders. The demons came closer, the head one lashed at me with a sledgehammer that landed right on my back, but that was it. Almost as soon as the Darkspawn surrounded me, the spiders jumped out from the ceiling and folds in the cavern walls, devouring the creatures in minutes.

Bait, they were using me as bait.

After their meal, they carried me back to the cage, and soon, I regained the use of my limbs. I slammed around the cage, trying to pry it open by pure force. It creaked from the pressure, but it did not give at all. My heart raced as I imagined being attacked by Darkspawn again. My body ached, from the venom, and from being hit while not wearing armor. I knew they would be looking for me, but how would they find me? I clutched my oath and concentrated. I tried to send her a message, but with all the Darkspawn underground, I wasn't sure if she would get it.


	40. The Tracker

_AN: I am unbelievably happy to see that so many of you continue to read my story. And I'm honored that many more are jumping on the wagon and reading so much to catch up with the rest of us. So, big thanks to all my readers!_

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CHAPTER 39

_*Sarah*_

Zevran and I hugged the walls of the caverns as we used a small torch to read the trail signs. We had found Shale and left Oghren with him. If we were to find Alistair and free him from his captors, the golem and the dwarf would certainly disrupt any stealth operations Zev and I could employ. The only trail signs we had to go on were the tiny footprints and bits of spider silk. I had un-gloved my hands to feel along the walls for any secret entrances, while Zevran carried the torch and in one hand and a longsword in the other.

Zevran stopped. "Do you smell that?"

"What, death?"

"More like extra deathy death."

"So, you think we're getting close?"

He nodded.

Despite being a smarmy assassin, Zev was a much better tracker than me, his senses were more in-tune with the surroundings, and for better or worse, I trusted his judgment. We inched our way around a corner and came to a dimly lit clearing encircled by tall fires. What I saw in the center made my legs feel weak, I leaned against the wall. Sprawled out before us were masses of bloodied corpses, nearly picked clean. We heard some commotion in the distance, and we hid behind a small ledge. I clutched the wall and peered around it. Zevran leaned over me. Three spiders emerged, and one of them was carrying something. My hands tightened their grip on the wall. It was Alistair.

I lurched forward, but Zevran grabbed me by the waist and pulled me back into the shadows. I struggled against him noiselessly, desperate to get out of his hold without alerting the vermin of our presence.

His lips grazed my ear, and he whispered, "Wait, we don't know how many of them there are!"

"What do you suggest we do? Leave him there to die? Look at this place!"

"If he's still alive, then they're keeping him that way for a reason."

"Ok, ok, you can let go of me now." I squirmed out of his grasp, which he seemed more than a little reluctant to release. I gripped the wall again. The spiders scurried away, and then I felt them, a swarm of Darkspawn.

"Darkspawn," I hissed, drawing my weapons.

"Don't move," he warned, gripping my shoulder.

I watched as the swarm gathered in the clearing, surrounding my Warden. Zevran grabbed me around the waist again. The spiders flooded from hidden tunnels in the walls, there must have been at least 20, probably more. Chaos ensued, I couldn't make out what was going on. I couldn't move, and I was enraged. _Has this been Zevran's plan all along? Wait until one of us fell into a trap, corner the other, and kill us both?_

Then, the chaos dissipated. A few spiders remained, and so did Alistair. He wasn't moving, but he was breathing, I could barely make out the rise and fall of his stomach as he lay on the ground. One of the remaining vermin picked him up. I heard him groan. My body went tense. He was in pain, but he was alive.

"Let's follow them," I said, again squirming out Zevran's grasp and leaping away from the wall before he could grab me again. We followed the spiders at a safe distance, relying on the sounds of their footsteps and the echoes off the walls to guide us. The spider carrying Alistair stopped and went down another hallway. It was even darker and narrower than the others, but it seemed to be empty. The spider stopped; Zevran and I froze against the wall. I heard latches, and then the spider turned around, without Alistair, and slipped by us.

"Keep watch," I ordered. I sheathed my weapons and felt along the wall, it seemed to be a dead end, a small room. I worked my way in from the outside.

"Maker..." Alistair groaned. I couldn't see well enough to find him, or to see if anything else was in the chamber. My hands brushed something. I gripped it, a wooden cage. I ran my hand along its bars, looking for latches, I felt his skin, his back, pressed up against the bars. I reached my hand through them.

"Alistair?" I whispered. "Are you all right?"

He groaned. "Now, I'm imagining things..." he trailed off.

"Alistair, you're not imagining anything, I'm here."

"My love?" he winced.

"Can you move?"

"Not yet." He took a few deep breaths. "Can you roll me over? Onto my stomach?"

"What happened to you?"

"The venom...it paralyzed...and my back...hurts."

Through the wooden bars, I felt around for his shoulders, and found them. "Ready?"

"Yes," he rasped. I pushed him over as gently as I could, pressing myself against the cage and hanging on to him as far as I could reach. I heard a thump. "Thanks," he said, his voice muffled.

My eyes weren't adjusting to the darkness, I couldn't see anything, not even an outline of the cage or the walls.

"I'm going to look for a way out of the cage," I said, pulling my hands away and running them along the rungs and the corners. I found some hinges. _Well, at least something swings open. _ I continued feeling, and I came to the lock. It was a basic pin-tumbler. I took out my lock-picking kit, thankful that I had been overzealous in organizing it during our journey so that I knew where each tool was. It was difficult working in the dark, but I had silence to listen for the pins sliding into place. One, two, three, four, then a satisfying click as the door drifted open.

"I got it," I announced. "How long before you can move?"

"Not long," he answered. "I can already feel my hands and feet."

"Good." I crouched into the cage. "Where are you hurt?"

"Everywhere," he groaned.

"Fine."

I took a few poultices from my pack and carefully moved around him. I felt my way up his leg, across his bum, and he giggled. "Felt that."

"Alistair," I warned.

I found his head and rather messily poured the potion into his mouth. Half of it ended up on the cage floor. I gave him another. "Any better?"

"The pain...yes, it's better." He paused. "How's my hair?"

"Alistair, I can't see the hand in front of my face, how am I supposed to know what your hair looks like?"

I ran my hand along his cheek. "I'm glad you're all right," I whispered. "You almost didn't hold up your end of the bargain."

I heard a noise from the hallway, and unnecessarily spun my head around to look. I heard Zevran. "They are returning. We have to move soon."

"He can't quite move yet...will you help me get him out of this cage?"

I heard the elf trot away and then return. "Yes, but we have to hurry. Where are you?"

"In the center. There's an elongated cage here, and Alistair's lying in it. He's paralyzed from the venom and he's hurt his back, so we need to be careful."

Zevran and I worked together, pulling Alistair from the cage, and hoisting his arms around our shoulders.

"Warriors," Zev murmured.

"Yes, warriors," I answered, a smile creeping onto my face. "Which way out, Zev?"

"To the right, and then another right."

"That will take us back to the clearing?"

"Yes."

"Alistair, feel free to start walking on your own as soon as you're ready, you heavy cow." I grunted and repositioned his weight. "All right, let's go."

We moved slowly but quietly through the passages, making it to the clearing unnoticed, Maker knows how. Gradually, Alistair regained the use of his legs, but he stumbled and continued leaning on me. I gripped my hand tightly around his bare waist.

"Almost there, love," I said.

We found Shale and Oghren where we had left them, surprisingly. They had set up camp rather messily, but at least there was a fire, and we were hidden. Without me even asking him, Zevran laid out a bedroll next to the fire and was pulling clothing from Alistair's pack.

I lowered Alistair face down onto the bedroll. I gasped when I saw his back. In addition to tiny little cuts everywhere, there was a black, blue, and purple swirl in the middle of his back. It was the worst contusion I'd ever seen.

"What happened to you?" I gasped.

"Darkspawn bait. They used me as bait. The swarm ran to attack me, and one of them struck me with a sledgehammer."

I squatted next to him and ran my hand along his shoulder. "I'm sorry. How badly does it hurt?"

He kept his eyes closed and smiled. "Not at all."

"Alistair."

"Ok, ok, a lot."

I felt my eyes sting with tears. "What do we do to make it better?"

He took a deep breath. "Numbing salve. Take a poultice and mix it with ice balm."

"Do we even have that?" I murmured.

"Mm-hm, in my pack."

I left his side to collect and mix the potions.

"Now what?" I asked.

"Put it on the bruise."

I took a deep breath. "This is going to hurt." As carefully as I could, I gently touched his back. He gasped. I gasped.

"Just do it," he rumbled.

_Right_. I rubbed the salve all over the bruise, my hands shaking. "Better yet?"

"Getting there," he said. Then he fell asleep. Zevran and I put a shirt on him and covered him with blankets. Then, we took first watch. For the first time in 30 hours, my breathing returned to normal, and I had an apology to make.


	41. Her Saviors

_AN: Third person. By special request, the first in a few chapters on the Deep Roads quests. Thanks for reading!_

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_CHAPTER 40

Zevran and Sarah sat opposite each other, leaning against the opening walls of the chamber. They looked almost identical, backs against the wall, knees pulled up in front of them, swords in right hands, daggers in left. He set out venom coating, she set out deathroot extract, and they yawned.

"Thanks, Zev," Sarah said in a low voice.

He cocked his head and looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Oh? And what for?"

"For keeping me from running to my death...I thought...you were trying to kill me," she admitted.

He tensed up and glared at his daggers. Yes, he had been in a perfect position to kill her, to kill Alistair, and to run away.

"And thanks for helping me get Alistair back," She murmured. She stared at the ground between her knees.

"You care for him a lot, don't you?"

"Yes," she said, eying the dirt.

"Not quite as much as he cares for you..."

She looked up, surprised that Zevran would make such an observation. "How do you mean?"

"Nothing."

They were quiet for a while. "Anyway, I'm sorry for doubting you," she murmured.

Zev shrugged. "How can I blame you? I am an assassin, after all." He smirked.

"Yes, but you're no longer a Crow. Well, at least I don't think of you as one anymore."

He continued to smirk and began gliding his dagger along the blade of his sword. "Why is that?"

"Well, you pledged your allegiance to me, for one, and for another, I think there's more to you than being an assassin."

"Hmm?"

"...or being a smarmy elf whore," she smiled.

"Hmm," he repeated, "Nope, I don't think there's much else, actually."

"Really? As far as I can recall you haven't killed any politicians, Grey Wardens, or princesses in the past two months. Just Darkspawn and rabid werewolves. And, you haven't tried to bed anyone at camp, either. Not Leliana, not Morrigan, not Wynne..."

"Hmm, haven't I?" He watched her closely, releasing a low grumble. He smirked.

Sarah shifted and pulled her knees in closer, and wrapped her blades around them. She glared at Zevran. "And you were doing so well, too." She paused. "Why do you always look at me like that?" She shivered.

"Why shouldn't I? You're easy to look at." A pause. "And fun to watch," he added for good measure.

She tugged her loose hair around her face, pulling it over her cheek.

He chuckled. "What? Surely you know you're beautiful, why do you cover your face like that?"

She didn't answer him. No, she didn't know she was beautiful, and she really never gave it much thought. When Alistair told her she was beautiful, she didn't look at it as some sort of revelation, but rather as...she didn't know, approval? No, that wasn't quite right, she wasn't really looking for Alistair's approval. Instead, she supposed, she appreciated that he saw her as something more than another Grey Warden. She did not like Zevran telling her she was beautiful. Only Alistair should be telling her she was beautiful.

Suddenly, there were shuffling footsteps coming down the hallway to their campsite. A hunchbacked, sniveling dwarf emerged from the darkness. His head rested involuntarily on his right shoulder. He lumbered forward.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? This is Ruck's!" he shouted.

The rogues leaped up, weapons drawn. They immediately flanked the intruder and glared at him.

He shouted hoarsely, "There's nothing for you here! It's mine! I've claimed it!" His head rolled around aimlessly

Sarah spoke first: "Who are you? What are you doing down here?"

Behind her, she heard Oghren grumble and get out of bed. Then she heard Alistair grunt and shuffle off the bedroll. He was by her side almost immediately, sans armor, but with his sword and shield.

"Alistair," Sarah hissed, "lay back down."

"No," he answered in a deep voice.

The dwarf shouted, "You've come to take my claim! You surfacers are all alike: thieving scoundrels! Well, I found it first!" He ran into their camp and stood by the fire. "You come back here, you'll bring the dark ones with you! They'll crunch your bones!"

Oghren joined his companions and slurred sleepily, "Word has it, the only way to survive down here is to eat the Darkspawn dead."

Sarah glanced at Oghren. _Eat darkspawn blood? Voluntarily?_ She shuddered, remembering the one sip of taint she consumed at Ostagar. "Why would they do that? Men have died from drinking it!"

The deranged underground dwarf answered her, "It burns when it goes down. It burns! It's my claim, not yours! Crunch your bones!"

Alistair tensed up. Clip, clip, clip, clip, clip, clip, clip, clip, hiss! The firelight outlined the shadows of several spiders.

"Shale!" Sarah shouted.

The golem bounded from his hiding place. Oghren grunted. Zevran coated his blades in venom. He tossed the bottle to Sarah. She caught it and quickly did the same.

"Let's go," Alistair said evenly.

Without pausing or looking at him, Sarah ordered, "Don't even think about it. You don't even have any armor."

She ran, leading her party into the fury. Almost immediately, she was wrapped in a web, but Zevran was there, lashing out at the arachnid with a lethal riposte, and then taking one whack at the webbing around Sarah forcing the silk away from her without nicking her skin or her armor. The two of them ran over to Shale, who was being cornered by four more spiders. The rogues spun, almost in unison, using dual-weapon sweeps and backstabbing to bring the vermin into submission. Shale shuffled, swinging his large arms and sending the smaller attackers flying against the surrounding walls.

Sarah heard the approach of two more spiders behind her, and she spun around. Almost immediately two more surrounded her. One of their heads crashed against her legs and she fell back onto prickling spider skin. Another one leaped over her, its teeth clicking and front legs pawing at her face and neck, the thin lower limbs poking into the small seams of her armor. She struggled against them, but she could barely move. Yellow venomous teeth swarmed over her and countless pricking spider toes clawed at her body. She grunted, turning her blades over in her hands to reposition them, her aching fingers maintaining a magical magnetic seal as she thrust her blades upward. But she missed, her powerful strokes hitting empty air instead of the bodies of her attackers.

Suddenly, three of them flew through the air. She heard Alistair grunt above her. His shield glided in sweeping movements against the spiders. She regained the use of her arms, and stabbed a few of them as they sailed past her.

"Alis...!" she could barely say his name.

"Watch my back," he ordered. She turned and guarded his back. He plowed through another group of six spiders that had swarmed Shale. She reached around the Templar, plunging her blades through their sticky skin, twisting her sword to infect each victim with the concentrated, lethal venom. She heard their screeches diminish into whimpers. She stood against Alistair's back, careful to not push her armor into his bruise. They spun around as a unit, each scanning above and around them for another onslaught. Zevran joined them, forming a three-figured circle. The picked up Oghren, then Shale.

"Is everyone okay? Did anyone get bitten?" Sarah asked.

Alistair stepped away, and lowered his shield. He looked over Sarah carefully, scanning for bites, abrasions, or any other wounds. Ever since that ambush on the way to Denerim, he never trusted her to be aware of her own ailments. She seemed fine.

Meanwhile, she looked over the other party members first, each nodded that he was fine. Then, Alistair held his sword and shield in the same hand and draped his empty arm around her.

"I can't leave you alone for a second," he said.

"You're one to talk. At least I didn't get abducted." He pulled her around him and kissed the top of her head. He rested his hand right above her armor on her back for a moment before dropping his arm and repositioning his weapons.

Sarah led the group back to their camp, where the writhing dwarf was still standing by the fire, twisting his hands together and his head bobbing to the side.

He shouted at them. "Go away! This is mine! Only I get to plunder its riches!"

Sarah looked at him closely. She met his eyes and saw there a deep sadness. She sheathed her weapons and took a few steps forward. Both Zevran and Alistair hovered with weapons drawn, neither of them trusting this dwarf at all.

Both were flabbergasted as Sarah approached the creature. She kneeled in front of him, bringing herself to eye level. "I just want to talk to you," she explained.

He backed into the wall. "No, no talking! You leave my territory!"

"I'm not here to steal anything, I promise," she coaxed.

He stood still, and watched her. He reached out a withered hand and petted her hair. Zevran took a step closer, but Sarah waved him off.

The creatures sighed. "Pretty lady...pretty eyes, pretty hair...smells like the steam of burning water, blue as the deepest rock...So the pretty lady won't take anything from Ruck? You won't take Ruck's shiny worms and pretty rocks?"

She shook her head. "I just want to talk. I won't take anything."

He dropped his hand and began twisting his fingers together again. "Oh, Ruck not mind that maybe."

Sarah spoke slowly and gently. "I think I met your mother. Is her name Filda?"

He tensed. "N-n-n-no. No Filda. No mother. No warm blanket and stew and pillow and soft words! Ruck doesn't deserve good memories. No no no no no no--!"

Much to the assassin and Templar's surprise and consternation, Sarah reached out her hand to the dwarf's shoulder. "Your mother misses you. She asked me to find you."

"S-She did not know, not what I did. I was very, very, very, very, very, very angry and then someone was dead. They wanted to send Ruck to the mines. If I went to the mines, she would know, everyone would know, so I stayed here. Once you eat...once you take in the darkness...you not miss the light so much. You know, do you not? Ruck sees, yes. He sees the darkness inside you."

Sarah lowered her hand and stared at the dirt floor. Yes, she was filled with Darkness, it undulated through her veins, mixing with her noble blood and feeding into her bruised skin.

"Yes, yes it is inside me, but it is not all that is in me." She paused. "You have to tell your mother you're alive."

He trembled. "No, no no! She cannot...she remembers a boy, a little boy, with bright eyes and a hammer and she cannot see this! Swear - promise - vow you won't tell!"

Sarah considered this. She watched his face, saw a mixture of fear and pain. She sighed. "You're right. I will not tell her.

"T-tell the mother Ruck is dead. He's dead and his bones are rotting in the crawlers' webs and she should never look again."

She stood. "All right, I'll tell her you died bravely."

"Pretty lady is like Mother, yes. Too good, too pretty for the darkness." Sarah reached to Ruck's face and brushed his hair aside.

Alistair's stomach twisted, another alarm ignored. He still hadn't told her.

Sarah left some surface food with Ruck, as well as a few poultices. She persuaded him to let her look through his wares, and she found some old scale armor that would fit Alistair.

Oghren chugged from a flask he had tucked into his waistband. "Agh, so we're going now, Grey Warden? I've had enough of spiders for this trip."

She finished helping Alistair buckle his armor, tucking some extra padding against his back so that the bends in the plates did not plunge so mercilessly into his bruise. She clasped her gloved hand in his. "Yes, Oghren, let's go."

Zevran, instead of taking his usual place at the rear, walked on the other side of his leader, part of him glad her fellow protector was there in the nick of time, the other part of him still trying to figure out why everyone was still alive.


	42. Of Oats and Footstones

CHAPTER 41

Sarah stumbled over the uneven surface. Despite her will to keep moving, her body was failing her. She hadn't slept in nearly two days. Well, she was estimating two days, without the sun or stars, she didn't really have a way to tell the time. She tripped again and fell forward. Alistair caught her by the arm and pulled her close to him.

"Let's make camp," he said.

She nodded.

They hadn't seen any spiders or Darkspawn for quite some time. The passageways were becoming wider, and the air was slightly more breathable. The decor had improved somewhat as well, instead of web covered cavern walls, they followed paths and buildings from old taigs, long abandoned to the Darkspawn.

Through sips from his flask, Oghren offered the group a running commentary on dwarven history, his use of the word "sodding" becoming more and more frequent with each gulp.

Shale was lost in his own thoughts, and did not say much except to occasionally offer a rundown of the "squishiness" of certain underground creatures.

Zevran playfully chided Oghren about Dwarven customs, but his heart wasn't really in it. He, too, had not slept since Alistair had been captured, and though he was used to long treks and sleepless nights, he was thankful for the rest. However, he was unsure how well he would sleep underground, calculating the vastness of the area and the small number of their troupe.

"...Alistair, you're still recovering from your injuries. No, I'm taking first watch." Zevran smirked as he watched Sarah argue with her fellow Warden, her eyes barely staying open after each blink.

Alistair laughed at her. "Take watch? You can't even stand up."

She glared at him. "I hate you, I hope you know that." She was not very nice when she was tired. She threw her weapons on the ground and sloppily unloosed her upper armor and pulled it off quickly. Apparently, she was also uninhibited when she was tired. "Oghren," she murmured, "if you look at me, I will cut off your foot." Without even hiding in a darkened doorway, she unclasped her armored skirt, slid off her boots and bracers, and dressed in the first shirt and pants her hands came to. She drew out the nearest bedroll, Alistair's, and fell onto it.

Alistair watched her with a bemused grin. However, he was mad at her for stripping in front of him because it had been..._nearly TWO WEEKS_ since they were last alone, and darkspawn or no darkspawn, he was getting weaker by the day. He grumbled under his breath as he walked to get some blankets for her. He tucked them gently and expertly around her, giving her a quick kiss on the nose before telling her good night.

Zevran did not let it past him that Sarah did not warn him not to look. But at this point he was rather disinterested. Actually, he was hoping that he could get some sleep as well, but doubted he would. He conceded that one of the Wardens had to be awake at all times, but he also knew that given the unknown reaches of the Deep Roads darkness, at least two people needed to be keeping watch. A small hidden part of him still felt squeamish when he remembered the frantic look on Sarah's face when she discovered Alistair was missing. He certainly didn't want another episode like that.

"Buuuurrrrrp! Well, Warden," began Oghren, slapping Alistair on the back, "looks like it's you and me for the night. Heh heh heh!"

Alistair winced, from the pain of being slapped on the back and from the thought of smelling drunken dwarf breath all night. "Yes, quite."

Zevran did not protest. However, he did not turn in immediately. He scavenged the area for timber, and made a small fire near Sarah's bed. He kept his armor on, and laid out his own bedroll on the other side of the flames. He kept his dagger with him, lay down.

Sarah stirred, she had not quite drifted off yet. She was thankful for the fire, although she did not think they needed one, given the torchlight. But she did not complain. The fire was warm, and its crackling sparks were a comfort in the echoing silence. She heard Oghren and Alistair walk the perimeter before sitting on some nearby stoops.

Oghren poured yet another draught of ale into his flask. "Warden?" he offered.

Alistair shook his head. "Um, no thanks."

"Suit yourself." Oghren took a swig. "So. With the boss, aye?" Flask in hand, Oghren gestured to her bed.

Alistair looked to where Oghren was pointing. "Pardon?"

Sarah had been just about to drift off, but she smiled. She had to hear this.

Oghren burped again. "You and the boss. Rolling your oats."

Alistair cleared his throat. "I don't know..."

"Heh. Polishing the footstones."

Sarah pulled the covers around her face and stifled a giggle.

"...what you're..."

"Tapping the midnight still, if you will."

Alistair shifted and glared at the dwarf. "What _are_ you going on about?"

"Forging the moaning statue. Bucking the forbidden horse. Donning the velvet hat."

_Donning the velvet hat?_

"Are you just making these up? Right now?"

Burp. "Nope. Been savin' em."

"Ah-hem, right."

A long pause. Sarah fell asleep.

"So..." Oghren gesticulated emphatically.

"Um...I guess, you could say that, yes." And before he could help himself, he added, "But not for a while now."

Grunt. "Why not?"

"We haven't exactly...been alone."

"Oh, that." The dwarf laughed. "Go ahead, I don't mind. It'd been fun to watch."

Alistair stood up and paced. "A little creepy, that."

"Heh heh heh. So, were you her first?"

"What!? Hey, stop looking at her like that! No, this conversation is over!"

Oghren grunted. "Hey, I meant no offense. I can just tell these things, you know. Believe it or not, I was in love once."

"With Branka?" Alistair was relieved they weren't talking about Sarah any more.

"Yep." Another swig. "Love of my life that one, and then she runs off on some foolish mission, never writes. Not that I haven't had my share of fun since then..."

"Yes, I'm sure."

"She loves ya, you know."

"Yes, she's told me that." Alistair shrugged.

"But...you have your doubts?"

Alistair didn't respond.

"Heh. How can a guy like you get a girl like her, all that? Yep, it's an old song." Swig. Burp. "But I wouldn't worry, she doesn't make a sodding move--heh, make a move--without looking at you first. And you should have seen her when you went missing. Lost her marbles, that one did. Screaming 'Alistair this. Alistair that.' Took the elf a while to calm her down."

"Calm her down?"

Swig. "Yep. He had to keep her from running like a possessed nug after you, he did."

"That so?"

"Yep."

"I think I'll take that drink now."

Swig. "Here ya go."

Alistair gulped down the ale.

Zevran smirked from his pillow. Her Templar was jealous.

* * *

_AN: That Alistair/Oghren exchange from the game is one of my favorites. I was laughing as I wrote this. I hope you did too. :)_


	43. The Leaders Meet

_AN: If you have a weak stomach, do not read during or immediately following a meal._

* * *

CHAPTER 42

"What do you think it is?" asked Alistair.

"Hmm, I'm not sure, it's not quite like anything I've ever seen before," Zevran answered slowly.

"Look at how twisted it is. And that mouth gaping open. Is that drool?"

"Yes, I believe it is. What do you make of the hair? Long, frayed, tangled, dirty, and matted." He shuddered.

"What should we do?"

Zevran shrugged. "Let's wake it up and see what happens."

"All right." Alistair crouched next to the figure and shook it carefully.

It grumbled and stirred. Then it started to kick and flail its arms, trying to untangle itself from blankets that were twisted around it.

"Good morning, dear," Alistair said.

"Don't touch me!" it answered.

"Oh, you're so beautiful when you first wake up," he laughed. Behind him, Zevran chuckled and folded his arms across his chest.

Sarah writhed on the bedroll again. She must have had a strange dream because her clothes were twisted around her body and any semblance of tidiness was long gone from her bed. She finally sat up and swiped her arm across her mouth. She ran her fingers through her hair.

"Is everyone still here?" she asked

"Yep." Zevran answered. "No spiders or darkspawn the whole night. It's been so peaceful, I was thinking about settling down here myself. You know, raise a nice family of nugs."

They seemed to ignore the elf. Alistair silently squatted beside her, watching her movements closely as she adjusted her top and retied her pigtails.

She finished with her hair and crossed her legs in front of her and faced him Zevran ambled off and started packing up the camp.

Alistair sank to the ground, never breaking her gaze. He sat with his knees pulled up in front of him. She leaned forward and touched his face, her fingers jumping slightly at the unusual amount of stubble on his cheek. He grinned, watching the corners of her mouth lift into a warming smile. She rested her hand on his knee and watched his eyes dance before her. He took her hand and kissed it carefully. She stopped smiling and rose to her knees. He leaned back on his hands, watching her with a half smile. She leaned against his legs, the scales from his boots uncomfortably prodding her skin through her thin shirt. She ignored the intrusion and put her hands around Alistair's face and kissed him slowly and carefully, her lips massaging his. He lifted one arm and laced his fingers in her tangled hair and pushed their mouths closer together.

She felt the familiar, hot pang in her chest and stomach. She exhaled hot breath against his lips and opened her mouth, begging for entry. Alistair responded, deepening the kiss. He slowly moved his legs to the side, and she crept closer to him. Her hands roamed along the unarmored parts of his neck. His own hands moved lower, massaging her back, and she pressed herself against his armor.

Grunt. "Heh, that's what I'm talking about, Warden!"

Alistair froze. He pulled away and pressed his palms against the stone floor.

Sarah spun her head around and glared. "Oghren, you dirty oaf!"

Shale mused, "Oh, it has stopped? I am glad, there is only so much squishiness one can take."

Sarah took another look at Alistair. Their shoulders and chests rose in unison as each of them tried to recover from the heated embrace. Sarah felt hot blood under her skin and started pulling at her shirtsleeves in desperation. This Deep Roads-induced celibacy was going to have to end soon. Alistair could not even look at her. He stood and walked away, gathering random supplies into nearby packs, rolling up the bedrolls and blankets, and snuffing out the simmering embers on the fire.

Sarah rose quickly. She found her armor and scampered off to the shadows to get dressed. Zevran, who had been pretending to organize and take inventory of their various potions and poultices, watched the ordeal with some sort of delighted ease. He found Sarah and Alistair's exchanges quite amusing. He didn't quite know what to make of witnessing nearly their entire courtship firsthand. He had to admit, watching them struggle with their feelings in front of an audience was quite enjoyable. Ferelden was not without its strange customs.

Because of Alistair's furious packing and Sarah's resolve to get moving _in some way_ as soon as possible, they were ready to depart in the next few minutes. She lead the group with Alistair and Zevran on either side of her. If Wynne thought she saw sparks between the Wardens before, were she present for this trek, she would have described the phenomenon more like lightning bolts of destruction. Sarah and Alistair were tense enough to break with any sort of contact, each with just enough self control to exert the frustration onto nearby darkspawn grunts and the occasional straggling spider.

However, as they walked, the presence of darkspawn intensified. They came to two stone bridges, each covered with dark blood and spider webbing. A few corpses were decaying on the pathway. Sarah moved slowly, peering ahead as far as she could while still keeping her party in the shadows. There were tiny battles occurring across the bridges. Darkspawn fighting spiders; spiders fighting darkspawn. She stopped. It would be better to watch them fight it out than try to join the fray. However, they could not delay fighting forever. The darkspawn victors made their way across the bridges and headed for them.

"Let's go," Sarah said evenly. She and Zevran automatically went into stealth, using the warriors as targets for their foes. The rogues circled behind the 12 darkspawn and began stabbing. Sarah actually laughed with glee when she took down a hurlock in one sweep. Shale took on multiple hits at once, distracting the fiends just long enough for Zev and Oghren to take them down. Alistair pummeled three darkspawn with one shield bash, and they fell to the ground. Sarah appeared from nowhere and methodically kicked and stabbed each one in turn, slitting their throats so that each creature let out a horrendous squelch right before she killed it and blood spurted from its ripped arteries. She laughed again.

Alistair watched her in amazement. She had killed half the darkspawn swarm while it took the four of the men to kill the other six. She had learned so much. He remembered the first time she saw a hurlock in the Kocari Wilds. She sunk low to the ground, and let out a rather girly scream before running around the creature and slashing inexpertly at its back. Jory was quickly there to finish it off, thankfully. However, when the next onslaught approached, Sarah disappeared into the trees, causing three darkspawn to attack Alistair at once. He grunted in frustration, but his worries were unfounded. Within seconds she reappeared and used the beasts' distraction to slay them with her tiny daggers. _She's a rogue_ Alistair remembered thinking. _A rogue who knows combat_. The next few fights, her tactics became more intricate, she led her other recruits easily, reforming strategies as she learned more and more about her enemies. Now, he continued watching her as she leaped around the battlefield, checking each corpse and rounding up her companions. She caught him staring at her.

"What?" she asked defensively. "Do I have another blade hanging out of my stomach?"

Alistair grinned, "Nope, I'm just glad you're on my side." He motioned at the pile of six darkspawn she had slain within seconds.

"Oh." She paused. "You'd better be." She sheathed her weapons, and the others did likewise.

Zevran checked the corpses for salvageable supplies, while Shale stomped on each of the darkspawn skulls, letting out a stony grunt of satisfaction with each step.

Suddenly, Sarah and Alistair whipped out their weapons simultaneously. Sarah's heart pounded and the taint swam mercilessly against her skin. She felt sick, she felt evil, she felt darkness, she felt flames. She heard the shriek.

"Hide!" she shouted to the other three. Without another word, she and Alistair sprinted to the nearest ledge. They glanced at each other before looking down.

Instantly, everything became _real_.

The horde. _Whoosh, whoosh, trudge, clang, roar!_ Thousands upon thousands of darkspawn marched below. Sarah hovered, blades raised at her sides. Alistair stood alongside her, but seemed to surround her with his protective shield.

The screech! The red swarm below erupted with fiery propulsion. The dark-scaled demon of her nightmares emerged, throwing ignited blue flames across the horde. It rose overhead, its death stench nearly unbearable. Sarah squirmed. She wanted to shriek, she wanted to hide. But she could not. There would be nowhere to hide. The archdemon did not recognize her, but it sensed her. It would know where she was no matter how cowardly she might recoil into rock. The dragon rose, flew higher and higher. The horde yawped in unison, raising blades in triumph and resolve. The giant leader flew farther and farther upwards, diminishing in size but not in force.

Sarah's stomach churned, and before she could stop it, she heaved. She doubled over, in fear and embarrassment. The morning's forgotten breakfast spewed from her, falling in disconcerting plops onto the stone edge. She wanted to be left alone, to be ignored in this supreme moment of weakness. But Alistair sheathed his weapons and rested a comforting hand on her upper back as she continued vomiting.

The others stood a ways off, not heeding her command to hide, but not rushing to confront the fleeting beast, either. They watched wordlessly, and without expression. They did not know or sense what the dragon-like beast was, they only knew it had made their fearless leader nearly crumble before them. There was an unease amongst them.

Sarah finally collected herself. She sheathed her blades and spat continuously, trying to rid her mouth of the sour taste of vomit. Shale, Oghren, and Zevran watched her carefully, not daring to move. Alistair followed her silently, his hand still resting lightly on her back. She took a deep breath and tried to stand up straight, to be strong. But she couldn't. She trembled uncontrollably. Alistair pulled her into a hug and held her close.

She cried.

Zevran looked on desperately. There was no assassin codebook entry on how to deal with sobbing leaders. There was no seduction tactic for consoling a mark after she was frightened by the archdemon. He locked eyes with Alistair, who nodded. Zevran gathered the others and took the lead. The group left the long-abandoned Ortan Thaig for another march. They took to the Dead Trenches, everyone coming closer to understanding what "Blight" actually meant.


	44. The Plan

CHAPTER 43

Zev was confused, but he was getting used to being confused. He was not beyond reason, however, so arranging this little meeting with the Templar did serve an ulterior motive. The five companions had stopped for the night/day/afternoon...none of them could tell anymore. They had walked the rest of the day without incident, surprising given that the archdemon had inadvertently shown itself to the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden. When Zevran mused that it was strange that they met no more darkspawn, Alistair blandly explained that was because all the darkspawn were marching to the surface.

Sarah had not spoken for the rest of the day, except to announce brief breaks and lunch. She didn't even talk to Alistair. The dark tension and the sense of impending doom grew heavier and heavier. Zevran was thankful she decided to stop just outside another abandoned dwarven hall. The stone doors felt ominous, and Zev had been dealt enough of ominous for the day. That's why he had pulled Alistair aside while the others set up camp and Sarah fixed dinner. She did not plan on eating, nor did she plan on smelling whatever Oghren wanted to fix.

When they were out of earshot, but not out of sight, Zevran stopped, and Alistair sat on the ground, leaning against a nearby wall. Zevran stood near him, and both of them watched their companions in the distance.

The elf began, "How is she holding up?"

Alistair shifted. He did not know. "As well as can be expected, I guess."

Zevran was too curious, and concerned, not to ask. "Why did she get so jarred this morning?"

Alistair watched his love carefully. She looked anything but jarred, instead she looked distant, detached even. Her movements and expression were a marathon performance of the way she responded to killing the faux Weylon in Denerim, as if one moment of weakness and terror had to be erased by hours of calculation and feigned indifference.

"That...thing was the archdemon," the Warden explained slowly. "It leads the darkspawn horde. In order to end the Blight, we have to kill it."

"Hmm, but surely she knew this. It would not come as a surprise to her."

Alistair shook his head. "No, it didn't." He paused. "But she has dreams about it."

"Oh, and what happens in these dreams?"

"She sees...the archdemon, and it...it kills me." Alistair leaned his head against the wall and shut his eyes. "Why are you so interested in this anyway?"

Zevran didn't know the answer to this. So, he stuck to what he knew. "She needs...a break."

"A break?" Alistair leaned forward, watching the elf with suspicion.

Zevran retained his countenance and paced slowly in front of the Templar. "Yes, a break, or a breaking in, you might say," he explained with a flourish.

Alistair jumped up. "What _are_ you playing at?"

Zevran chuckled. "I meant no offense, my good friend. I simply have noticed that there has been little...release for either one of you since we came underground. Shale has his skull-crushing, Oghren his ale. Typically, our fearless leader has you, and you her, but" he laughed to himself, "no one's been having anyone in quite a while."

Alistair actually blushed. "And what do you have, Zevran? Assassinating?"

Zev threw up his hands defensively. "Aren't we past this by now? Besides, I have my own..._private _methods of release."

"You did not just say that!"

"Tsk, tsk, that is not what we are talking about here. What I am trying to tell you is that you need to bed her soon before one of you cracks." He took a deep breath, surprised even as the words came out of his mouth. "If it is true that the Darkspawn are marching to the surface, then it's not as necessary for one of you to be on watch constantly. Besides, when she falls apart, we're all going to fall apart."

Alistair was silent for a few moments. "So you're telling me to go off alone with her while the rest of you keep watch? That doesn't seem much like you."

"It is for the good of the group. I'm sure it is no surprise for you to know that I have an expert grasp on matters such as these. I have watched you two for some time, and I know how she depends on you, how you depend on her. This needs to happen soon."

Alistair groaned. "Somehow, I thought you would be the one trying to get her into your tent on this trip, not me."

Zevran smirked. "I have tried, my friend. For some unfathomable reason, your seduction seems more effective than mine."

Alistair smiled, the prospect of some time alone with his love almost shattering all other reason. He could not help himself. "Even so, any suggestions?"

Zevran smirked, "A few."

The boys whispered for a while longer before joining the others by the campfire. Alistair ate quickly before slipping away with one tent, two bedrolls, and a few blankets.

* * *

_AN: Are we having too many mushy love scenes? Or too many impending mushy love scenes? I just adore writing them, but if it's overkill, feel free to let me know. I like keeping my audience happy :)!_


	45. Tease

_AN: Bordering on adult themes below. However, if you want skip that part, just go below the next bar, and you will not have missed much of the plot._

* * *

CHAPTER 44

Alistair found Sarah standing by the fire polishing her blades. He had already changed into his clothes. This came as no surprise to her, since she was taking watching that night. Alistair positioned himself between her and the fire. _Aggressive tease_, he repeated to himself, recalling Zevran's advice.

Without speaking, Alistair stood as close to her as he could manage without touching. He looked down, his head hovering over hers.

She looked up. "Alistair?"

He didn't reply, he offered a half smile and watched her. She dropped her hands to her side, holding a blade in each. "Alistair, what are you doing?" she demanded.

He continued watching her, then he lifted up his left hand, and without breaking eye contact, slipped his forefinger into the small crevasse between her top armor and her skirt. He ran it along her hip, then to the front of her stomach. She looked to the side, clearly frustrated.

"Stop that," she hissed.

His finger traveled back to her hip, and he repeated the action with his right hand.

Sarah didn't move, but she looked around the campsite desperately. Shale was studying markings in the walls, while Zevran was involved in a heated conversation with Oghren. No one was watching them.

She turned back to Alistair, his expression was still the same. His fingers traced her waistline again before he stopped with his thumbs and forefingers poking into her hips. She let out a brief shiver.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against her ear. His voice was deep, almost guttural; his words vibrated against her skin. "You make my blood boil. I have to have you. Tonight."

She felt hot all over, as if she were melting into her armor, she imagined that in a few minutes she would be nothing but puddles in her scale boots. Why was he doing this to her? In front of everyone else?

She whispered his name again, but instead of sounding like the warning she intended it to be, it came out as a curious utterance. He brushed his mouth across her cheek. She lifted her head up and watched him as he bent even lower and scooped her into his arms. Her sword and dagger clattered to the floor, creating a loud echo in the cavern. She squirmed in his grasp until he spoke again.

"I'm not putting you down," the guttural voice said.

Try as she might reason how inappropriate and misplaced this scene was, she could not keep the heat from rising in her body. She was flushed, and nearly breathless.

They came to a clearing, lit by two torches on either side of a tent. He set her down, running his hands up her back and into her hair. He hovered, he kept his body from pressing against her armor as he untied her pigtails. She reached her hands forward, and clutched his shirt. Gently, but forcefully, he pulled her arms away.

"Not yet," he said.

He finished unlacing her hair and it fell lifelessly around her face. Next, he reached into his pocked and pulled out two carefully preserved mint leaves. He put one in his mouth, then one in hers. She shuddered as his fingers grazed her lips. They each chewed methodically for a few seconds before spitting the leaves onto the ground.

Alistair took a deep breath, amazed at his self-control and thankful that the serum Zevran gave him was working its magic.

He grabbed her by the waist and kissed her. As their lips interlocked in familiar but exciting maneuvers, Alistair unclasped her armor methodically. He broke the embrace and watched her carefully. Shock covered her face, her cheeks were red and her chest heaved.

Oh, Maker help him, this was hard.

She twisted out of her top armor and watched him closely. He grabbed her hips again, undoing the buckle of her skirt. Then slowly, much too slowly, he followed the skirt down her legs as it fell to the floor. He squatted in front of her, she leaned forward and pressed her hands into his shoulders.

He unbuckled her bracers, his fingers flitting against her skin mercilessly. Once those were removed, he rose slightly to lower her to the ground. She leaned back on her arms. His hand traced her thigh, her knee, and he took off her first boot. He repeated the sequence for her other leg. He leaned on his elbow beside her, he caressed her bare leg, starting at her calf, then her knee, then the top of her thigh, then the inside.

She gasped. Still moving slowly, he reached around her hip, slipped his hand under her shirt. He shifted and turned over, holding himself above her. He kissed her again. She leaned on one arm and wrapped the other hand around his neck. Then he stopped touching her and rose. He pulled her off the ground, and lifted her up again. He carried her into the tent and laid her down on the soft bed.

He stood beside her, took off his shirt, pants and underwear in a few, quick, successive movements. She watched him, her head resting on the pillow. They locked eyes and paused for a moment. Then, he knelt beside her, and slid his fingers along her waistline again.

"Just take them off already," she rasped, gripping his forearm.

He smiled. The elf was right. It was working just as he explained. Alistair, still surprised at his restraint, slid her panties to her knees. Then, he kissed her stomach, moving in a line downward. She arched her back and gripped the back of his head, pulling his hair.

He lifted up his head and watched her face carefully. Then, he pulled her forward, and she ripped off her shirt and kissed him desperately, her hands finding his hips and moving lower as she squeezed his bum.

He watched her carefully, memorizing every curve of her body, every involuntary movement contracting in her torso. He wanted to play the game a while longer, but he couldn't. Aside from a physical need that increasingly grew to match hers, Alistair felt a longing to connect with her again. After days of physical and emotional separation, he wanted her back. He wanted her happiness, her strength, her love. He wanted to give that back to her, and he wanted to share it with her.

His mood changed, his expression softened. And Sarah smiled.

"I love you," he said.

* * *

Outside the tent, hidden in the shadows, Zevran groaned and slapped his forehead. The lovestruck templar was not supposed to say "I love you." That's not how it was supposed to work. Well, at least Alistair had made it through the first part of the sequence successfully. Zevran had expected less.

He stayed to listen a while longer, to ensure that the serum was working. Indeed, it took a few _times_ for her before Alistair himself finished. Zevran smirked. It was only a matter of time now.

* * *

Sarah watched Alistair in horror. Just a few seconds ago, they were lying against each other peacefully, enjoying the denouement of lovemaking. And now, Alistair was shivering, his lips had all but turned blue. And he clutched his stomach.

"What is it? What's wrong with you?" she screamed. She held his arm tightly. She wrapped blankets around him, trying to warm his cold skin.

"C-c-c-crow," Alistair stuttered. He watched her face.

Sarah leaped up and threw on Alistair's discarded clothes. She grabbed his heavy Greatsword and jumped out of the tent. She had an elf to kill.

* * *

"Showtime," Zevran said to himself as he bounded back to the camp, smirking the entire way.


	46. Poor Alistair!

_AN: My attempt to explain the complicated mess that is a villainous Zevran. Read the song lyrics, they matter :)__.

* * *

_

CHAPTER 45

_Walking with each other, think we'll never match at all, but we do__  
But we do, but we do, but we do  
__I thought I knew myself, somehow you know me more  
__I've never known this, never before  
You're the first to make up whenever we argue_  
_I don't know who I'd be if I didn't know you._

_--Adele "My Same"

* * *

_

Zevran's plan was too fitting to not put it into action. His captors were too distracted to notice him, too enamored with each other to concern themselves with his tiny deeds. It was not death he sought, for if that were true, the Wardens would have been killed long ago, or at least that's what Zevran told himself. No, what he sought was disruption, an entry point, inclusion. He did not want to end or hinder whatever was between her and Alistair, but he did not want it to continue either. So, he plotted, he schemed, he planted seeds in their minds, in appropriate places, relying on their own weaknesses to betray them.

Zevran did not want to admit to himself that he wished Sarah would look at him the way she looked at Alistair, he wanted her to desire him _more_ than Alistair. All he needed was an opportunity to demonstrate his skills. What drew him to her, he could not say. It was not love, surely, his escapades with Rinna had ended any hope he had of love. Love was dangerous and wasteful. What he wanted was security, and, he supposed, devotion.

He made it back to the campsite before she did. He found Oghren sitting on a stoop and Shale staring into the fire. He eyed the dwarf closely.

"Oghren, my friend, whatever is about to happen, do not worry yourself with. It will work itself out, I promise you."

"What are you sodding talking about?" slurred Oghren.

Zevran smiled easily. "I only mean to say that what is about to happen by this campfire is between me and her, not the rest of you. Do not interfere."

Zevran's practice of persuasion was flawless. The dwarf shrugged and continued drawing in the dirt with the helm of his axe.

Sarah ran up to the fire, and slid in her bare feet. She wielded the greatsword inexpertly, and Alistair's large pants threatened to fall to the floor. She hiked them up and glared at the elf.

"Zevran!" she shouted. "What have you done to him!?"

The elf stood nonchalantly on the other side of the fire. His stance was relaxed and his arms were folded across his chest. He had purposely left his daggers by his pack. He was unarmed. He knew she would not attack him if it were not a fair fight.

"Done? Why should I have done anything to anyone?" He leaned casually against the wall.

Sarah looked around frantically. She threw down the sword and picked up her own blades. "Tell me now or I will---"

"What? Kill me? If you kill me there will be no antidote. Surely, you will not kill such a pretty face as mine and let your Templar suffer unnecessarily." He smirked. He watched her face, covered in panic, as she digested the information. He had finally found a way to disrupt her stern expression.

"Antidote?" she asked.

He approached her slowly, arms swinging at his sides. He grinned. "Antidote, yes." He paused. "But not without a price."

Suddenly, Alistair stumbled into the circle, with a blanket draped around him. He continued to shiver, and he was hunched over because of the pain in his stomach.

Sarah stood between the two of them and her head snapping from one to the other. Should she help Alistair first, or corner Zevran?

She could not watch him suffer. She set down her dagger, kept her sword, and rummaged through Alistair's things before finding him some clothes. Then she grabbed a poultice from the potions pack. She ran over to him.

His fingers shaking, Alistair dressed himself. Sarah quickly uncapped the poultice, but before handing it to him, she tested a drop of it on her tongue. It was clean. She gave it to Alistair, and he raised it shakily to his lips. Soon, some of the pain subsided, but he was still freezing. Sarah took the blanket and wrapped it around him. Then, she lead him to sit on a nearby stone.

She spun around and glared at Zevran. She walked towards him quickly, equipping her dagger as she walked past it. He watched her every movment. She came closer and closer, she stood toe to toe with him, and their eyes looked straight into each other. Zevran saw a quivering panic shaking her irises. He was amused.

"Antidote," she ordered.

"A trade," he answered.

"What sort of trade? Do you want to leave? Go, Zevran, you are free, I relinquish you from your oath."

Zevran was taken aback. She thought he wanted to leave? Did he mean nothing to her?

"What do you want, Zevran!?" She spat his name like poison.

Zevran retained his composure, he stood comfortably and smiled. "No, I do not wish to leave. What I want...is a kiss."

"A what!?" Alistair yelled from his stoop. Then he groaned and bent over.

"Oh," observed Shale, "Are the squishies fighting over it? This should be interesting."

Zevran never looked away from her face, he read it expertly. Years of seducing marks, coercing politicians; months of studying her every move. She was angry still, but when he had said "kiss" her eyes narrowed and her expression softened. She was not entirely averse to the idea.

She did not back away. "A kiss? You want a kiss? From me?"

"Mmm-hmm," he murmured lightly.

"You did this to Alistair so I would kiss you?" Her face was red, her hands were shaking.

He shrugged. "Well, you don't have to give me a kiss, if you do not want to. In a few weeks' time, with lots of bedrest, I imagine your fellow Warden will recover." He smiled.

"No." Alistair rumbled.

Sarah closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Her stern expression returned.

"Okay."

"Hmm, I thought you might say that." He reached for her arm. "But, I have a few conditions. First, no weapons." He pried the blades from her hands. "Second, this will be no Ferelden friendly greeting, this will be an Antivan kiss, no more no less."

She balled her empty hands into fists. "What exactly does an 'Antivan kiss' entail?"

He smirked. "It's nothing you're unfamilar with. I can assure you."

Sarah turned her head to look at Alistair. He leaned forward on his knees and clutched the blanket around him. She took a deep breath. "Okay, I agree."

"Yes, I rather thought you might," Zevran drawled.

She stood completely still, arms staright at her sides. She looked past Zevran and stared at the tiny nicks in the wall. She would go elsewhere, she would not be here.

Zevran wrapped his thin muscular arm around her waist. Instead of immediately kissing her lips, as she expected, he kissed her cheek next her ear. He whispered, "Bello tesoro." He knew that she did not know what he said, but he meant it nonetheless. She leaned back, but he pulled her closer, clearly not finished. He grazed his lips along her cheek and finally met her mouth. He slid his other hand down her side and along her hip. She stood almost lifeless in his arms. He had to try something else. He moved to her other ear. He repeated the phrase, "Bello tesoro." He lingered there for a moment, breathing onto her neck. He sucked her earlobe, and he felt it. Her posture softened, he felt her knees give slightly against his legs, and she leaned closer against him. To any onlookers, her change was unnoticable, but to Zevran, it was all he could have asked for.

He stepped back. She was still staring into the distance, her expression unchanged, but her face was flushed. She refocused her eyes.

"Antidote."

He reached into his pocket and tossed the bottle to her. She ran to Alistair and poured the potion into his mouth. He took a few deep breaths. Color returned to his skin. He stopped shivering. He rose, preparing to run at the elf. Sarah grabbed his arm and twisted him around. She took one snide look at Zevran, and pulled Alistair's head down to meet hers, and she kissed him deeply, and passionately, forcing their bodies to fold together. She pulled away, leaving Alistair breathless, and relieved.

Zevran did not seem to care. He stepped lightly, for he and the female Warden shared a secret. She was not immune to his charms, and he had made her blush.

The Templar vowed revenge, though no one heard him say it.


	47. Third Confession

CHAPTER 46

Sarah frequently thought in "what ifs." What if she had been born in an Alienage instead of a castle? What if she had been born a mage? What if her father saw Howe's betrayal before it had happened? What if her parents will still alive? What if Duncan never died? What if she had never met Alistair? But that last question made her shudder and feel empty.

So, she was grateful that her other "what ifs" did not come true, and a small, a very small, selfish part, was thankful for the horrible, gut wrenching circumstances that had brought her to him. These circumstances forged them together, just like Alistair had explained, they "sort of stumbled into each other."

She meant it when she told Alistair that she didn't know _why_ she loved him. But not loving him was no longer an option. It was instinctual at this point. Perhaps it had originated as some evolutionary capability of self-preservation. Indeed, they had saved each other from death more times than she could count. But it was also more than that, he kept her whole, he kept her pure...emotionally, at least. Some would say that Alistair was too weak, too soft. However, if left unchecked, she could be callous, uncaring, constantly putting up an emotional shield between her and any decisions that came her way. She didn't used to be like that, but since leaving Highever, the demand of leadership had caused her to grow a thick skin. Somehow, and rather quickly, however, Alistair's conscience became her own, his mercy, her mercy, his kindness, her kindness. And she marveled at this connection, wondered how a man who had never known a home, a man who was repeatedly rejected and pushed aside, could retain such compassion. His irreverence was nothing but a mask he wore, she knew that now, being close to him. She was lucky, lucky indeed, that out of all the possible paths her life could have taken, that this path, this broken path of hardship, loss, and fear, brought her to this happy place her heart occupied with the "senior" Warden of Ferelden.

The night was still young, and she had sent the others to bed, even Zevran. Now, she and Alistair leaned against a rock near the fire, both clad in armor, weapons lying at their sides. He had his arm rather uncomfortably draped over her shoulders, and she rested her head on the cold metal of his shoulder plate. They sensed a few straggling darkspawn, nothing they couldn't handle should one of the creatures wander into their camp. They had yet to find Branka, and the length of time spent underground had started to make Sarah worry about her other companions whom she had left in Haven. The village was safe, in fact, she Alistair, Morrigan, and Zevran had killed the dragon guarding the ashes, and now the town was deserted, but well stocked. Besides, bringing everyone to Orzammar would have not been wise, either. The dwarves were notoriously reclusive, so taking only a few others was the best approach.

And now, they found themselves on the strange quest of putting a new king on the throne of an empire they knew little about. Thus was the life of a Grey Warden, Sarah assumed, gaining alliances where possible, hesitantly involving oneself in murky politics.

"What," Alistair began, interrupting her thoughts, "is the first thing you imagine you'll be doing once all this is over?"

"You mean after we find Branka, crown a new king, travel to the other side of Ferelden, crown another new king, I mean, queen, kill the regent, slay an archdemon, and quell the Blight?"

He sighed. "Just dream, with me, if you will, my love. When all this is over, when we don't have to travel anymore, what will you do?"

She shrugged, she didn't want to think about the future in this moment. The threat of the archdemon was too present to dream of a life without darkspawn, without obligations.

"I have...something to tell you," he said slowly, his voice low and serious.

She wrapped her un-gloved hand around his. "What is it?" She expected him to say that he loved her again, he had been doing that all evening, as if the contractual kiss with Zevran had changed something between them.

"The taint, there's another side effect I haven't told you about." He sighed deeply, he felt a lump in his throat.

She was a little surprised. "What is it?" she asked softly.

"Two Wardens have--I've never known two Wardens to--" he struggled with this confession. He had to tell her now. It was not fair to keep this from her any longer, but the words stuck in his mouth.

She shifted, and turned to face him, still holding his hand. "Alistair, what is it?"

He could not look at her. He stared at their hands clasped together. "The taint, it makes-it makes conceiving children difficult. Even the Wardens I knew with children had them before their joining. The possibility-" a deep breath, "of two Wardens bearing a child is-practically impossible." He exhaled and finally met her eyes.

She was not surprised. The taint seemed to have no end to its intrusions. Indeed, until she met Alistair, until she fell in love with Alistair, she never thought of having children, or of marriage. But when she imagined spending her life with this man, having children with him seemed only natural. She should have known that a perfect, normal life as a Grey Warden was a false hope. She should not have been so fanciful with her dreams.

Since she did not say anything, Alistair continued. "I want you to know, before we go any further, that if you want to have children, it won't be with me." He watched her face, but it was her turn to stare at the ground.

She remained silent, but did not let go of his hand. She sniffed, and met his gaze. "Alistair, if I can't have children with you," she paused. "Then I don't want them at all." She watched his face carefully. He didn't smile, he didn't look relieved. She expected him to be glad at her confession. Perhaps she had misunderstood his meaning.

She dropped his hand. "Of course. You want children, but I can't bear you any. That is what you're telling me, isn't it?"

His expression softened. He reached a calloused hand forward and tucked her stray hair behind her ear. He wanted to see her eyes unobstructed. He rested his hand in the crook of her neck, his thumb massaging her cheek.

"You, my love, are more than I could ever ask for. I am with you as long as you will have me."

She smiled, and kissed his hand. "I love you, Ser Templar."

He leaned forward. "And I you, Lady Cousland."

Before she could protest his calling her "lady," he covered her lips with his. After the soft kiss, she repositioned herself beside him, and pulled his arm around her.

She pushed away any more "what ifs" for the night. These moments between them were few and fleeting. Instead, she wanted to imagine that they were at home, wherever that was, sitting by a fireplace, safe from darkspawn and free of treaties and intrusions.

She sighed, and he kissed the top of her head. Alistair was back on schedule, he presumed, but with every breath, the archdemon was nipping away at the dates on his calendar.


	48. Onward

CHAPTER 47

A few hours later, Sarah heard Alistair's breathing slow and deepen. He had fallen asleep. She carefully removed herself from under his arm, and she positioned his shield against him so that he would not fall onto the floor.

She found the potions bag, Zevran's pack, and her own pack, and sat by the fire. She laid out items before her, and organized them to the best of her ability. Now, more than ever, she wished for some knowledge of herbalism, and for more than a simple familiarity with poison. She left mixing potions up to Wynne, who was not with her at the moment, and the poisons up to Zevran. She only knew mixtures by taste and smell, some by color, but she knew that color was not always dependable.

She started with the poultices, testing each one. She kept her water flask nearby to clean her palette. They were fine. Next, she moved on to salves and potions. She was unsure of their purity, she did not know the ingredients involved in their mixture, so could not tell if something was out of place. They would have to forego using any potions unless absolutely necessary. Next, she examined the poisons. Deathroot extract and venom she could recognize easily. But there were stronger concoctions in the supply, foul-smelling liquids that she had not seen before. She put all of these in her own pack. Next, she took all of Zevran's poison-making supplies: flasks, herbs, leaves, distillations, concentrators, and stored them in her own pack. She knew that her caution was unnecessary, it was not likely for him to attack them in the same way as before, he was smarter than that, more conniving than that.

But she wondered if it really were an "attack." It was not an assassination attempt Zevran had made, nor was it usurpation. It was more akin to manipulation, and his ultimate goal was what? A kiss? Zevran was not the type of man to stop at a kiss, not the type accustomed to going beyond face value to get whatever physical pleasure he sought. So why the trickery? Why the plotting? Sarah did not know why Zevran seemed to want her. And she was clearly devoted to Alistair, she did not question her love of the Warden for a second. But, she was weighed down by guilt. She could not deny that the longer Zevran's lips rested on her mouth, the less resistant she was to them being there. And she knew that he felt her give, even as slightly as she did. Of course, she did not want to, she had no attraction to Zevran, no desire for him.

She shuffled through his things, privacy long a thing of the past. She pulled out a few silver bars she had given him, remembering he loved the simplicity of shaped metal. She pulled out the Antivan leather boots, which he had polished to a luster. As she set one of the boots on the ground next to her, and a piece of parchment fell out. She resisted reading it for a second, but she thought better of it. It might be the recipe for whatever serum he had given to Alistair.

She unfolded it. And she was surprised. It read:

_"Mi Bello tesoro:_

_My love is vengeanceThat's never free__  
When my fist clenches, crack it open  
Before I use it and lose my cool  
If I swallow anything evil  
Put your finger down my throat  
If I shiver, please give me a blanket  
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat."_

That was the phrase he whispered in her ear. Surely, it was a commonly used Antivan wording, surely, it was not just for her. But the parchment fell out of the boots she had given him. She folded the paper up carefully, and slid it back into his boot. No, assassins did not fall in love with marks, it was rather unprofessional. Besides, regardless of Zevran's feelings, she loved Alistair, and nothing would change that. Nothing.

She went through the rest of his things quickly, and found nothing else that was a threat to the group. She put his pack next to his tent. Then, she found Alistair's greatsword, her own lighter longsword, and she went to practice. The days of wielding child-like daggers were over. She had darkspawn to fight and a country to save.

She held the heavier sword in her right hand, the other in her left. She started with rudimentary movements, allowing her muscles to warm into activity. She began thrashing at the air, repositioning the helms to adjust movements. She backstabbed, flurried, dual-weapon swept. Yes, she would be ready for whatever the darkspawn or the Antivan Crows threw at her.

* * *

After some hours of practice, her companions began to awaken and pack up camp. Alistair was the last to get up, and when he stood, his shield clattered loudly on to the floor. Sarah skipped to greet him, trying to put happiness into each step. She leaped onto the boulder he had slept against, and stood above him. He turned to face her, and she put her hands on his shoulders, and leaned forward to kiss him.

It was a simple, quick kiss, after which she went to put out the fire and grab the potions pack before anyone else came to it. She passed out some dried scones to the others for breakfast, and they departed. She led them into the narrow passageways of the Dead trenches, following a simple map she had torn from Branka's abandoned journal.

She expected Zevran to join her and Alistair at the front of the group, but he assumed his usual position in the back. He did not ask her about the missing items from his pack, nor did he question why she was carrying the potions pack instead of leaving it up to him.

Alistair did not wear his gloves for this march, though they offered him protection, he wanted to be in constant contact with Sarah that day. He kept his unshod hand on her back as they walked, taking note that she had sheathed two full-sized weapons instead of a sword and dagger. He did not ask her about it. He was thankful for her extra caution, even if it made putting his arm around her slightly more complicated than before.

Alistair had also threatened the elf that morning, while Sarah was visiting the loo.

"Look here, Crow," the Templar began, "I don't know why you're still here, but if you try anything again, I will not be responsible for my actions."

Zevran was noticeably flustered, but his reply was even. "Why do you not do away with me now?"

Alistair took a step closer. "Because, it is not my decision to make. She spared your life before, and again tonight. Maker knows why, and told me to leave you be. But I have my eye on you, elf. Don't forget that."

Zevran wanted to laugh at Alistair, whose daftness often seemed to know no bounds. But there was a fierce intensity in the Warden's voice, so that Zevran was more shaken than usual.

Alistair did not want Sarah to know that he had threatened Zevran. She had told him it was her problem to handle, not his. But Alistair was territorial. While he made no claim of ownership, he wanted to protect her. He glared at the elf often, and watched him closely. Alistair was not without his guilt, and he punished himself for falling into the manipulative clutches of an assassin. He would not question Sarah's decision, but he would he let down his guard, either.

* * *

They walked sometime before coming to the rear entrance of a large stone palace. Sarah checked the map. Yes, this is where they needed to go. She unsheathed her weapons and stepped forward. The others followed her lead. Alistair only took out his sword, and continued keeping his hand right above the top of her armor.

They followed the chambers. The first enemies they came too were ugly, sulfur-smelling abominations. Sarah tossed out fire-resistance charms to her companions, and they fought. Alistair never left her side. She moved quickly, and he kept up with her, despite his heavy armor. But Zevran was always there, too, so that Sarah hardly could wield her blades with any degree of freedom without hitting one of them in the process.

Once the abominations were quelled, she groaned. "Look. I am more than capable of fighting. Everyone needs to stick to their own tasks. Shale was nearly overcome by abomination sludge because the two of you," she eyed Alistair and Zevran in turn. "Now, this is what is going to happen. Shale and Alistair, you will be our anchors. Spread out yourselves evenly, and draw the enemy towards you. Zevran and I will slip in and slay them. Oghren, you help Shale and Alistair as needed. Let's be smart here. Don't crowd so close to each other so that we can't see what we're doing. We have to work as a _team_."

Alistair was noticeably frustrated. How dare that elf try to mess up their strategy.

Sarah ignored his grumbles. She led them down the next hallway, and Alistair kept his hand on her. She was thankful for the contact, but she didn't want to admit it.

As they wove farther and farther into the palace, a familiar but strange smell emerged. It took Sarah a while to place it. Finally, she realized that the chambers smelled much like the room Dog's mother birthed her litter in. The palace smelled of barbaric, animalistic motherhood. She shuddered.

Alistair stopped. "What is it?"

"Don't you smell that? It's like decaying afterbirth." She spat, the odor traveled through her nostrils and into her throat.

Zevran joined them. "There is something eerie about this place. This scent, it does not give me a very pleasant feeling."

Alistair glared at Zevran, but Sarah ignored it.

"What do you think it is?" she asked them both.

They shrugged. Oghren, paying attention for once, joined the group.

"Warden," he began, "What do you know of broodmothers?"

"Broodmothers?" Sarah asked.

"Aye, the creatures that bear darkspawn."

Of course, where did the darkspawn come from? Why had she not wondered this before? "Tell me what you know Oghren."

He grunted. "I only have this, I found it in Branka's research." He handed her a torn journal page.

Some of the words were faded or smudged. Sarah read the note aloud:

"When exposed to the darkspawn taint, men...driven mad and...die. Women, however, undergo great pain and...mutations that c...'em to perish. Those that survive...'ecome the grotesque broodmothers. These giant, twisted behemoths birth many darkspawn at a time; a single broodmother can...darkspawn over the course of her lifetime. Each type of darkspawn is born from a different broodmother; Humans produce hurlocks, dwarves produce genlocks, elves give birth to shrieks, and from qunari...Ogres."

Her eyes focused on "exposed to the darkspawn taint." What did "exposed" mean exactly? Eating darkspawn? Drinking the blood? Going through a magic ritual known as the "Grey Warden joining"? Could she, in fact, one day, become a "behemoth" that produced demonic creatures? She started to panic.

Zevran watched her hands as they began to shake, holding the parchment. "Well, it seems we have some more fantastic creatures to kill. Let us be off, I am anxious to see what new surprises these darkspawn have for us. What is a fun trek into the Dead Trenches without hearing a few more of these darkspawn squeal under our blades?"

Sarah did not let Alistair see it, but she smiled, calmed by Zevran's light and nonchalant tone.

"Right," she said evenly. "Let us go."

They walked, and Alistair leaned over. "I would never let that happen to you, even if you still wanted to have kids." He hoped his joke was not too dark.

She smiled back at him. "I know, that's why I keep you around, to protect my virginity."

He smiled, and despite his experience, he blushed. Dear Maker, how he loved this woman.

* * *

_AN: Zev's poem is taken from The Who's "Behind Blue Eyes," brilliant song._


	49. Motherhood

_AN: I am a writing machine today. I trust you will pace yourselves…_

_

* * *

_

CHAPTER 48

As they walked, the smell became more potent, and the sense of darkspawn grew stronger. Eventually, they came to a long hallway, with many doorways, and darkspawn swarmed into the area. But they were ready. Surprisingly, Alistair did as he was told, and remained fairly stationary, attracting the melee attacks of the beasts and using his shield to protect himself and redirect the darkspawn force. Sarah and Zevran moved together, their tactics so synchronized that they did not need to speak to each other. Either she was a good leader, or he was an adaptive tactician, whatever the cause, they worked well together.

Even in the swell of battle, Alistair was jealous and uneasy. Without him following her, she seemed exposed to much danger. Had their battles always been like this? Or was he being unnecessarily protective? He was not sure. He bashed hurlocks and genlocks without much thought, tossing the beasts onto the rogues' blades as they tarried away, expertly slicing around armor.

After the battle dissipated, the smell became almost unbearable. The "decaying afterbirth" mixed with the rancid odor of spilled darkspawn blood. Sarah was glad she had not eaten breakfast, or dinner before that. She had been chewing mint leaves and drinking water since losing her appetite in the face of the archdemon. Even so, her stomach churned as the chanting started. It was a low, desperate, female voice that grew stronger as the stench intensified.

"First day, they come and catch everyone.  
Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat.  
Third day, the men are gnawed on again.  
Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate.  
Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn.  
Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams.  
Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew.  
Eighth day, we hated as she is violated.  
Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin.  
Now she does feast, as she's become the beast."

Sarah shivered. She was frightened, she felt filthy to her core. There was no comfort on her companions' faces. Cannibalism? Darkspawn? Violation? What sort of evil lurked here?

A figured emerged from the shadows. A dwarf, or at least it used to be one at some point.

"Hespith?" Oghren asked.

Sarah looked at him. "Do you know this woman, Oghren?"

"Aye, she was of Branka's group. They were quite...close." He grunted.

The figure came closer. "Feeding time brings only kin and clan. I am cruel to myself." Her stature resembled Ruck's. She looked at Sarah and her companions in turn. "You are a dream of strangers' faces and open doors."

Sarah examined her closely. She appeared to be suffering from a high fever. Her skin was pale and covered in dark blotches.

"First day they come and catch everyone..."

"What is that chant?" Sarah demanded. This Hespith smelled of darkspawn, yet she was not darkspawn. She was tainted. Sarah had her weapons drawn. Alistair and Oghren stood on either side of her.

Hespith twisted her hands around each other. "It's what I've seen. What I will become. I force it into verse so it is fantasy, unreal. That's the only place I can hide because they...they make me eat....and then...All I could do was wish Laryn would go first. I wished it upon her so that I would be spared. But I had to watch, I had to see the change. How do you endure that? How did Branka endure?"

Sarah felt queasy. She knew the answer, but she had to ask, hoping it would not be true. "What change? What are they doing?"

"What they are allowed to do. What they think they must. And Branka! Her lover, and I could not turn her. Forgive her...but no, she cannot be forgiven. Not for what she did. Not for what she has become."

Sarah groaned in frustration. Clearly, this dwarf was overcome with madness. "What did she do, Hespith? What did Branka do?"

"I-I will not speak of her! Of what she did, of what we have become! I will not turn! I will not become what I have seen! Not Laryn! Not Branka!" Hespith ran away. Without a word, Sarah followed her.

Hespith kept mumbling, "They want to hold...to fill...until you are changed with them."

The taint in Sarah's veins. She wanted to rid herself of it, to erase any possible connection with this penetrating fear, this possible future. Around them, pillars were covered with abomination flesh. The smell of afterbirth intensified. The air was humid, suffocating, hot.

Hespith ran faster; she disappeared. Sarah heard a low rumble, a growl, then she heard the suction of tentacles, the splash of liquid falling onto the stone floor. Sarah steeled herself. This was no time to be afraid. She led them forward, ignoring her instincts to runaway from the compressing air.

Suddenly, tentacles filled the open room around them. They swished. Sarah ducked, avoiding their movements.

Hespith continued chanting: _That's where they come from. That's why they hate us...that's why the need us._

Through the confusion, Sarah spied the behemoth, a ten-foot pile of skin, with ten, grey, splotched breasts.

_That's why they take_ _us..that's why they feed us_.

Pink fluid oozed from its pores. She looked around her, noting her companions' positions. They were already swatting at the tentacles. She was the only one not moving. She sprung into action.

_But the true abomination...is not that it occurred, but that it was allowed_.

Sarah dodged the arms, wove around them, and approached the beast.

_Branka..._

She flanked it, plunging her blades in continuous, smooth movements, into the broodmother's putrid skin.

_my love..._

Sarah sensed its appetite. It mirrored her own ravenous hunger that emerged after the joining. Alistair made his way to her, severing any tentacles in his way.

_The stone has punished me, dream friend..._

Sarah continued stabbing, she moved around the creature, searching for weak points, slicing through veins, forcing the monster to bleed out, the crimson taint flooding the floor.

_I am dying of something worse than death. _

Then the darkspawn came. But Oghren, Shale, and Zevran surrounded the Wardens, protecting them from the genlocks, hurlocks, and the like so that the mother could be slain. The figure trembled, it tried to move. Sarah spied a weak point, just below its head. She glanced at Alistair.

_Betrayal_.

"Throw me," she ordered. "I have to take of its head."

He did as he was told, he lifted her onto his shoulders, the other three furiously slicing behind him. She leaped from Alistair onto the beast, using her momentum to run up its body. She stood on top of it. In one quick motion, she crisscrossed her blades through its neck. Blood gushed around her, and the monster's head tumbled to the floor. Sarah was covered in blood, but she eyed her companions on the floor, and she was grinning. She jumped down to join them, relief washing over their faces.

Alistair sheathed his weapons and took out a clean cloth. He wiped her face carefully. "You, my Warden, are fearless." He pulled her into a hug, and Zevran guided all of them away from the pool of blood quickly forming around the slain figure.

"It has killed the broodmother. Quite a feat. I am glad."

"Thanks Shale, it was nothing," she replied.

Oghren grunted. "Let's find Branka."

"Agreed," said the leader.


	50. Bello Tesoro

_AN: It would make more sense if we all would pretend this chapter came before the last one, even though I wrote it in reverse order..._

* * *

CHAPTER 49

Sarah watched Alistair, he was angry, and not the sort of angry she had seen before. He was fuming.

"You want to talk? To him? Ask him why he tried to poison me? 'There's more to it than I realize?' What do you mean? Clearly, he's trying to get into your pants. Don't you see that?" He whispered intensely. At least he wasn't shouting.

"Get into my pants?" she asked.

"Yes, this entire thing. His whole plan led up to that ridiculous kiss so he could--so that he could _grope_ you in front of me."

She watched his hands. The were balled into fists, and he tapped his right one against the wall. His face was red; his eyes were large and watching her intently.

"Alistair, you're scaring me."

"I _do not_ want you alone with him!"

"You think I can't take care of myself?"

He sighed. "I'm not saying that. I've seen the way he watches you, like you're prey, like you're something to be...conquered."

She laughed. "I assure you, that will not happen."

He did not believe her. He glanced at the elf and back to her, the tension only growing in his face.

She frowned and looked away. "Do you know how he got that scar on his chin?"

"Werewolves, I assume."

She shook her head. "No."

"What then?" He was exasperated.

"When we were searching for the Dalish, I convinced him to spar against me. I took him down. Quite easily, I might add. He went on and on about my figure or something--"

"Your what!?"

"Listen! He kept saying those awful things, those...sexual things, and I called him on it. I threw him onto the ground, told him to stop it. He tried to take me down, too, but he was not able to. When I let him get up, he started with the remarks. Again. So, I cut his face. Alistair, I can handle myself. You do not need to be worried."

"What makes you think he'll tell you anything?"

"I have a feeling..."

"What sort of feeling?" He was starting to panic.

She placed a comforting hand on his balled up fist. "I tell you what. Give me fifteen minutes. If I don't come back by then, you can run in, all 'defending my honor' and such, and kill him yourself."

"You are infuriating!"

She reached into the pocket of her armor and pulled out a small bundle. "Do you know what this is?"

He paused and looked at her hands. She unfolded layers of fabric, revealing an old treasure.

He stretched out his hand, and their fingers met atop the withered petals.

"You kept this?" he breathed.

"I keep everything you give to me," she whispered. She took the rose's stem between her thumb and forefinger and ran the petals along his chin. "I know that you are mad at him, and I know that he hurt you, but, he's saved both of us. He helped you pull me out of that frozen lake, and he helped me rescue you from giant spiders. I have to hear him out. I owe him at least that much."

He sighed, but his expression softened. "I hope you know what you're doing."

She nodded. "I do."

* * *

She and Zevran sat in a small chamber, leaning against opposing walls.

She was not going to play games with him, or coddle him "Why did you do it, Zev?"

He was surprised that she called him "Zev," not "Zevran," or "Elf."

He shrugged and smirked. "He is an easy target, is he not? Surely someone who has captured his devotion can understand that." He eyed her closely, watching for a change in her expression.

She gave no indication of anger. She smiled at him, not as a leader, not as a lover, but more like a mother who was preparing to console a child. "What does 'bello tesoro' mean?"

His eyes widened, but he did not remove his smirk. "Beautiful treasure. It is a common endearment exchanged by Antivan lovers."

"So it means nothing special to you?"

He did not move or change his expression.

"Zev, do you really think you are the only person in this room capable of reading people? I am no amateur, I am no spoiled princess. Do not try to fool me."

He looked at her. "Exactly, how have I tried to 'fool' you, oh fearless leader?"

"I found the parchment...in your boots."

"Hmm?"

She rose and walked over to him. She sat in front of him, only inches away. She forced him to look at her. She had to ask him, but the words sounded childlike coming out of her mouth. "Zevran, are you in love with me?"

His face relaxed slightly before his smirk returned. "Love?" he laughed. "Love? I was born of a whore and bred an assassin. What would I know of love?" He could not look at her, it was as if she saw right through him.

"You know, you make it very hard for me to trust you. But I want to, Zev, I want to trust you." She took a deep breath, slightly doubting her presuppositions of his feelings for her. "I love Alistair, you know that. Maker, I think everyone knows that," she joked. "But I also care about you, Zevran, you are a dear friend to me." She touched his shoulder lightly, and he did not shrug her off. "I want you to know that you are free to stay or go, whatever you choose. If you cannot accept that I love Alistair, then perhaps you should leave. But I hope you don't. Although I do not...care for you in that way, you are still special to me." She took a deep breath, relieved to have her thoughts explained.

"You do not hate me then? You do not wish me to leave?" he whispered. He had assumed he would be banished, or that the Templar would have kicked him to the stone dwarven curb. He did not expect...kindness.

She shook her head. "Not unless you want to go."

"So...you offer me freedom?"

She nodded.

He jumped up. "Your gift means well, I am sure. But I do not think I should leave your little group just yet. There are still darkspawn to slay, no? And you and that Templar get yourselves into too much trouble to not need the help of a skilled assassin, right?"

She rose to her feet and smiled easily. "So you'll stay then?"

"Until a better offer comes along, yes. Though I do not imagine there shall be a future as promising as following two Grey Wardens into a Blight."

She hugged him, quickly, before running off to stop Alistair from killing anyone.


	51. Branka

CHAPTER 50

"It has forgiven the painted elf then?"

"Yes, Shale I have."

"This is an interesting development. I rather thought it would enjoy squashing its pretty little elf-head."

"Shale, I do not enjoy killing. Besides, Zevran's frustration was...misdirected."

"It does not enjoy killing? Not even squishy birds?"

"Birds and darkspawn? Yes. People, no."

With the stench of the broodmother slowly fading, Sarah and her companions cleaned themselves up by a running stream. Then, as much as they dreaded it, they walked even deeper into the Dead Trenches.

Oghren's comments became more frequent; he read clues in the stone and reported to his leader. Zevran, much to Alistair's dismay, walked on the other side of Sarah, taking particular delight in the Templar's consternation. Alistair continued to keep his hand on her back, and she did not mind it being there.

Sarah was not quite sure how to take, or tame, their quarrel. It wasn't as if she would suddenly start kissing Zevran and leave Alistair. What, exactly did they hope to prove with their stern glances, anyway? She was amused to watch them glare at each other, even if she hated that they weren't getting along. It did make each of them more attentive to their duties.

At lunch, Oghren found their leader alone, and commended her. "You've done quite well for yourself, Warden."

"Uh, thanks, I suppose."

"Two suitors, at your beck and call? Aye, quite well."

"Oh, well, Zev's not really a suitor." She thought for a moment. "And I don't suppose Alistair is either."

"But I thought he was—"

"Donning the velvet hat?"

He chuckled, "Aye."

She smiled, and tried to hide her involuntary blushing. She watched Alistair as he packed up the dishes. He caught her staring, and he gave her a warm smile. "Well, Oghren, Alistair and I do...tip the midnight still, but he's not really a suitor...any more at least." She paused. She had not told anyone about their jokingly serious engagement, nor had she and Alistair discussed it since then. But she didn't need to explain herself further.

"More than a suitor, then?" He grunted. "Good, it suits you, both of you. Trust me, a dwarf knows."

Sarah felt herself happy with Oghren's approval, even if he was a hopeless drunk. "Thanks, Oghren, that means a lot coming from you."

"Just calling it like I see it." He grunted and left to pack up his things.

Alistair made his way over to her and stood beside her. "So, what did Oghren have to say? Was he confessing his devotion to you as well?"

She stepped in front of him and wrapped her arms around him. "No, he was giving us his blessing."

"Oh, I didn't know we needed it."

She rested her head on his chest, and he kissed the top of her hair. "Did you mean it, Alistair...when you said we were...engaged?"

"Of course...although I don't think you can wear white at our wedding." He released a low-pitched growl and she felt his chest rumble, even beneath his armor.

She jumped back. "You have not protected my honor, Ser Templar. What ever shall I do with you?"

He narrowed his eyes and offered her a half smile. "I can think of quite a few things."

She blushed and ran away.

__

The air in the Dead Trenches, though it did not smell as bad, was still stifling. Sarah was thankful, then, when yet another dwarf popped out of the shadows. She was even further relieved when Oghren called her Branka. But, instead of addressing her husband, the woman talked to Shale. Zevran grabbed Sarah's arm and pulled her aside. Of course, Alistair was with them in seconds.

"Before we talk to her," Zevran said, "are you sure that you want to put Harrowmont on the throne?"

An easy answer, "Yes, he was Endrin's choice as successor. And he is willing to at least compromise on the conditions of Dust Town."

"I agree," said Alistair.

"He is weak," replied Zevran. "He will be a weak king. With the Assembly so divided, they need a leader who will unite them. I have told you this before. I just want to make sure that you know what you're doing."

Sarah sighed. "I don't want to have to make this decision at all, Zev. But since I have to, I'm going with my gut, and it says Harrowmont."

"Fine."

"I agree," said Alistair.

Suddenly, Sarah realized Branka was talking to her: "...and how shall I address you? Hired sword of the latest lordling to come looking for me? Or just the only one who didn't mind Oghren's ale breath?

Before Sarah could reply, Oghren took a step forward. "Be respectful woman, you're talking to a Grey Warden"

Branka swaggered above them, unimpressed. "Ah, so an important errand girl, then. I suppose something serious has happened. Is Endrin dead? That seems most likely. He was on the old and wheezy side."

Sarah was flabbergasted that Branka had not even paid attention to her husband. Well, she did have an underground lover... Sarah took a deep breath. "How do you know I'm not just helping Oghren?"

Branka soffed "Because nobody helps Oghren. At best, Oghren's need to find me happened to coincide with the needs of someone more important."

Drat, there was no talking to this woman.

Oghren grunted. "Arrrrgh! You are impossible! This Grey Warden came all the way from the surface to ask your help picking Endrin's successor."

Branka laughed, the shrill sound echoing off the walls. "I don't care if the assembly puts a drunken monkey on the throne. Because our protector, our great invention, the thing that once made our armies the envy of the world, is lost to the very darkspawn it should be fighting. The Anvil of the Void. The means by which the ancients forged their army of golems and held off the first archdemons ever to rise. It's here. So close I can taste it."

Sarah was frustrated. Why all of this pomp and self-proclamation. "So why haven't you?" she asked snidely

Branka stood still and eyed the Warden. Sarah felt Alistair move closer to her. Branka answered: "The Anvil lies on the other side of a gauntlet of traps designed by Caridin himself. My people and I have given body and soul to unlocking its secrets....I've given up everything and would sacrifice anything to get the Anvil of the Void."

"Great, another gauntlet. Hopefully no dragons this time," murmured Alistair.

Sarah remembered Hespith's chants, and she remembered the stink of the broodmother. These memories angered her and she stepped forward and glared at Branka. She did not like this woman. "Does that include Hespith and the others of your house?"

Branka threw her hands in the air, well aware of her own power in the situation. She did not owe this surfacer an explanation. "Enough questions. If you wish me to get involved with this imbecilic election, I must first have the Anvil. There's only one way out. Forward. Through Caridan's Maze."

Oghren was noticeably upset. "What has this place done to you!? I remember marrying a girl you could talk to for one minute and see her brilliance." Sarah felt sorry for him, the love of his life had turned into a power hungry monster.

Branka faced Oghren. "I am your Paragon"

In an even voice, and hating every word, Sarah said, "Lead us, Branka."

Of course there were more darkspawn, and corpses of darkspawn, the offspring of the dead-Laryna-broodmother, vestiges of Branka's failed attempts to obtain the Anvil.

Sarah shrugged. They had faced worst before, right?

"Let's get this sodding over with," grumbled Oghren

They wove through the darkspawn corpses and came to a large stone structure. Sarah stepped onto the platform, and the center column began to rotate, shooting out shafts of painful white light. Then, spirits appeared, each protecting one of four altars.

"Guard the altars," she ordered. The boys spread themselves out, slicing through the spirit forms. Sarah sprinted from altar to altar, dodging the structures defenses and the spirits' attacks, activating each structure as it became available. Eventually, the shafts of light ceased, and the structure stopped spinning.

They rejoined at the side, and a large stone boulder slid away, revealing another path.

"Let's go, she said, and led them forward.


	52. Resolve

CHAPTER 51

Branka had followed them, she watched them overcome each trap in Caridin's maze. Now, she stood behind them, protesting the destruction of the Anvil, which she had given up her life to find. And this topsider was planning to destroy it.

Oghren shouted. "Branka, you mad, bleeding nug-tail. Does this thing mean so much to you that you can't even see what you've lost to get it?"

No, she would not lose it, not after she had come this far. "Look around. Is this what our empire should look like? A crubling tunnel filled with darkspawn spume? The Anvil will let us take back our glory!"

The self-righteous topsider spoke. "The Anvil enslaves living souls! It must be destroyed!"

Shale strode up to his leader "So it fights with Caridin...that seems right."

At least the elf had some sense. "Living souls suffer all the time. Peasants working the land are trapped, but we do not go about destryoing farmland, do we? It just seems a waste to destroy the Anvil, given what it could do."

* * *

Sarah was awestruck by Zevran's cold-hearted calculation. "Do you really mean that? Continue enslaving one group of people to set another free? How would you like to become a golem?"

Zevran was taken aback. Why was his leader being foolhardy? "Now, let's not be unreasonable. You wouldn't do that, surely."

She turned to look at him and gestured to Branka. "Wouldn't I, if I cared only for power?"

Finally, he understood. "All right, all right. Perhaps destroying it is a good idea."

Caridin's voice boomed in the caverns. "Thank you stranger. Your compassion shames me."

"Bah!" Branka wielded the control rods and a herd of golems attacked our stout heroes.

* * *

Sten was tired of these dwarves' circular logic. Could they not choose a king themselves? They ask a Grey Warden to settle minute issues of the state? Most unorganized indeed. Nothing of the kind would happen in the Berasaad. Now, his kadaan roamed the caverns of the Deep Roads. When she was needed to lead armies on the surface, she was running errands for inconsequential, power-obsessed dwarven nobles.

Dog barked beside the Qunari, agreeing with the warrior's thoughts. The hound trusted the elf and the Templar, but his master had been away for too long.

Morrigan, too was losing her temper. These dwarves were less motivated than the Mage's Circle. Everyone sitting around, complaining, not doing anything, directionless.

Thank the Maker for Leliana and Wynne. Were it not for the skilled persuasion of the bard, and the innocent tone of the healer, they would not have made it this far, arguing with the Deep Roads guards, trying to gain passage to find their friends. Sarah and the others had been in the caverns for five days, they discovered.

It had been Leliana's idea to search for them. By the end of the first week, she had grown nervous when they had not heard back from the Wardens. It took little effort to sway Wynne, but Morrigan and Sten were another story. Both the witch and the giant felt Sarah was capable of handling things on her own; she would be back soon. But another week passed, and the nervousness grew into worry, and after another day, the worry into anxiety. So they packed up their things and began the slow trek to Orzammar. They had to throw around "Grey Warden" in order to make any headway in the dwarven kingdom, and now they hit another roadblock.

In mid-sentence, the head guard stopped and ran to the cavern entrance. A few of his underlings followed him, while three remained, glaring and blockading the topsiders.

The was a shout. "Thank the paragons! Warden, you're alive!"

Leliana peered into the darkness. She ignored the stern faces and imposing stances of the guards and ran forward. Dog followed her immediately.

"Thank Androste!" squealed the bard.

Sarah and Alistair emerged from the shadows, arms wrapped around each other, faces covered in dirt, armor splotched with blood. And they smelled _awful_.

Leliana ignored the burning in her nose, and she ran forward to hug the Wardens.

Sarah let out a muffled, "Oh," as Leliana, then Dog forced her to the ground. Wynne followed soon afterward, already throwing out magical healing and rejuvenation onto the weary travelers.

"What the sodding..."Oghren murmured, as cuts along his face and arms closed together.

Zevran slapped the dwarf on the back. "That, my bearded friend, is Wynne's doing. Aside from having a magnificent bosom, she is quite the healer."

Oghren laughed uncomfortably, he was unused to magic, or being called "friend."

Sten and Morrigan watched the scene with relief, but they did not join in the emotional reunion.

After being attacked by Dog, embraced by Wynne and Leliana, Alistair threw his arms around Sarah.

Wynne watched them closely, and despite herself, she smiled, relieved at seeing all of them this happy together.

Oghren sidled next to the mage, pretending examine her staff. He looked at the elf. "Eh, I see what you mean."

* * *

Harrowmont was crowned king, Filda thought her son died nobly, the Anvil was destroyed, and Shayle discovered her identity. Sarah and her companions were rewarded with a dwarven alliance, a large meal in the royal palace, supplies, and beds for the night. She and Alistair stole some bread and cheese from the kitchen and sneaked away to their bedchamber.

Despite the success of their trek and the relief of delivering the last treaty, there was a heaviness between them. Alistair had shoved three dwarven beds together, and Sarah sliced the bread and cheese. She took some wine from her pack, an Orlesian specialty she bought months ago in Denerim, and poured it into two cups. She handed one to Alistair, and they toasted.

"To the Grey Wardens," she said. He nodded and clinked their glasses together.

They ate their humble meal, trying to tease each other to lighten the mood, but their attempts fell flat. Finally, they dressed for bed and laid uncomfortably longways across the mattresses.

Finally, she spoke. "So this is it, I guess. One more walk back to Denerim, and then we fight."

"And the Landsmeet."

"The Landsmeet," she sighed. "Do you think we can do it? Unite a nation and kill the archdemon?"

"I miss Duncan," he said, surprised to hear his voice give.

"Me too," she replied. She reached to his face and brushed away his tears. "I wonder, though, what Duncan would say…about us."

Alistair smiled a little. "Oh, he would just grunt and shake his head."

"The teryn's daughter and the bastard prince. Who knew?"

"I did," he said.

She tapped his shoulder playfully. "Really? You couldn't even give me a rose until I almost died. If it weren't for these blasted Darkspawn, I'd be sharing this bed with an elf." She regretted it as soon as the words came out of her mouth.

He didn't say anything. Then, in one swift movement, he leaped on top of her and slid his hands under her gown. He covered her mouth with a deep, hard kiss.

She stopped him. "Alistair, I love you. Nothing will change that. You don't have to _prove_ anything to me.

He brushed her hair back on her head and their eyes locked. "I don't want to lose you," he said.

She pushed his hands away from her torso. "You won't. I love you. Only you." She kissed him softly.

He laid back down, and was quiet for some time.

Finally, he said, "Okay, I'm not mad anymore. Can I touch you now?"

She giggled. "Whatever you'd like."

He grumbled, blew out the candles around their bed(s). "Heh, protecting your honor. There's nothing honorable about this."

"For a chantry boy, you are dirty."

"Shut up," he said. "I'm digging for treasure."

She gasped. He knew, that sneaky little Templar knew.


	53. The Duel

_AN: Especially for __Whiteshade24, who gave me the initial idea for this chapter. Thanks for reading, everyone!_

_

* * *

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CHAPTER 52

Sarah woke up alone. It was not like Alistair to leave without saying something, but perhaps he didn't want to wake her, or maybe he was still angry.

She stood. Her back was sore from sleeping uncomfortably across three beds. Stretching her limbs, she spied some wine left from last night, and though she probably should not have, she drank the fourth of the bottle that was left. Then she ate a piece of bread. She was so happy to be rid of the Deep Roads, that she felt a bit foolhardy.

She checked the cupboard, where some kind soul had placed her cleaned clothes and armor. She randomly chose some pants and a shirt to put on, and stood staring at the shelves, realizing that since she and Alistair went to bed so early, that she didn't know where any of her companions were. She ambled back to the bed and felt a little dizzy. She chalked it up to the wine on a nearly empty stomach.

* * *

Alistair could not believe the elf was still smirking, as if he had said nothing. "What say you, Crow?" He quickly glanced around him, noticing that everyone in their little group was present. Everyone except Sarah. Good, he didn't want her here. She would try to stop him.

Zevran laughed. "A duel? Aren't we past all this?"

"No."

"What exactly, are we dueling over? Your fellow Warden? What would she say if she knew you were trying to fight me for her?"

Alistair did not change his stern expression. "This has nothing to do with her," he lied. "It is about honor. You tried to poison me, and I seek revenge."

"Hmm, are you sure it is not for an innocent kiss that you seek revenge?" Zevran was enjoying the Templar's rage.

Alistair shifted, and took a half step toward the elf. "Will you duel me or take the coward's way out?"

Zevran threw up his hands. "Fine, if you wish for a duel, then I shall give you one, though I do not see what purpose it will serve."

"To the Proving grounds, then," Alistair said with a sweep of his arm.

"To the Proving grounds," mocked Zevran in a high-pitched voice. What a wonderful way to begin the day!

They were almost to the entryway, when Zevran heard the running footsteps before anyone else. He turned and smirked.

Sarah wove through her companions, barely even dressed, and cut off her fellow Warden. "Alistair! What in Androste's name are you doing!?"

Zevran intentionally looked her over, noticing her thin garments and tiny shoes. She looked much smaller out of her armor. It was humorous to watch her try to stop the imposing warrior.

Alistair did not look at her. "This doesn't concern you."

"Oh, really?" she said, folding her arms across her chest.

He ignored her and continued walking. Zevran slipped past her, made eye contact, shrugged his shoulders, and followed the Templar.

Leliana joined Sarah on the bridge. "How romantic. They're having a duel."

Sarah glared at her well-meaning friend. "It's not romantic; it's bloody stupid. First of all, Zevran's not going to fight fair. Second of all, why do they need to fight _over_ me? It's my sodding decision. Not that I had much of a decision to make. I love Alistair, everyone knows that..." She was feeling loopy and short-tempered from the wine.

Leliana giggled. "It reminds me of a story, from the Anderfalls--"

Sarah held up her hand. "Not now." She chased after Zev and Alistair. Everyone else followed her.

Zevran was secretly hoping Sarah would put an end to this nonsense. He did not see himself fighting with the Templar without one of them ending up badly injured or dead. He was an assassin; he fought to kill. Alistair was a Templar; he fought to inflict pain. Zevran watched everyone file into the Proving arena. Yes, Wynne was there. Perhaps this would not get out of hand.

Alistair unsheathed his sword and strapped on his shield. "Sten, the rules."

"Fight fair. First to surrender loses."

"Sten..."

"And no poisons."

Alistair eyed Zevran. Zevran feigned innocence. "Me? Use poison in a duel? Never!"

Sarah leaned against a pillar. She was angry and her head was spinning. No, she definitely should not have drunk the wine. Dog sat at her feet, keeping a careful eye on his master. Morrigan was not with the group, Sarah noticed, but Oghren was.

"What did I tell ya, Warden?" he remarked, referring to their earlier conversation regarding her "suitors."

Sarah closed her eyes and rested her head against the stone. "As I understand it Oghren, they're not fighting over me, but for 'honor.'" She took a deep breath, trying to tell herself that the floor was not, in fact, spinning beneath her.

Dog barked, and the dwarf was a little frightened. He stood on the other side of the mage, and continued to examine her...staff.

Alistair sank into his warrior's position. Zevran drew his daggers.

Sten said, "Fight!"

Alistair ran forward and thrust out his sword. Zevran ducked. Alistair groaned and tried to push the elf over with his shield. Zevran jumped out of the way.

"Fight me!" rumbled the Templar.

Zevran shrugged, "As you wish." Then, as he was about to rush Alistair, he dropped his daggers and ran to the side.

"Hey! What are you--" Alistair followed Zevran's path to the sidelines. "Sarah!" he shouted.

She had collapsed on the ground. Leliana, Dog, Wynne, and Oghren stood in a circle around her. Dog growled at everyone who tried to approach her. Then he whined to Alistair.

"My love," he murmured, pushing the others aside to take her hand. He knelt beside her and brushed her hair out of her face. "What has happened to you?"

Zevran pushed his way through, ignoring Dog's threatening growls. He looked at Sarah and knelt on the other side of her.

Her lips were blue, her body was cold, but she wasn't shivering. Dog laid his head on her stomach and whined again.

Before Alistair could stop him, Zevran whipped his finger down and ran it along Sarah's gums. Then he tasted it.

"That is sodding disgusting, even for you Z--" exclaimed Oghren.

"Quiet, dwarf!" Zev hissed. "Alistair, what did she drink this morning?"

Alistair was confused, worried, angry. His hands trembled. "I-I-I don't know. I left before she woke up."

Zevran groaned. "The wine? Where is the wine?"

Alistair's eyes grew wide, then narrowed. "Wine? What do you mean?"

"The Orleasian wine. You didn't let her drink it did you?" Zevran felt ill, he felt weak. Surely the daft Templar knew not to drink the wine.

"We had it for supper...maybe she drank some more when she woke up..."

Zevran was angry. He grabbed Alistair's arm. "Did it not taste at all familiar to you?!"

Alistair dropped her cold hand and balled it into a fist. "You didn't!"

Zevran looked around frantically. No one had supplies with them. Why didn't anyone bring any potions? "Where are the crafting supplies?!" he demanded.

"You conniving, treacherous, scum!" shouted Alistair.

Zevran, for one of the few times in his life, was shaken to his core. He did not duck or move as the Templar's fist grew larger and larger, until everything went black. He fell backwards onto the ground.

"Wynne, don't even think about it," said Alistair, watching the mage trying to heal the elf. "Fix her first."

Wynne approached Sarah and hovered her hands over the leader's body. "Alistair...I can't. She's--it's poison--I can keep her breathing, but I can't wake her up."

Alistair couldn't breathe. He shook his love fruitlessly as Dog continued whining.

Wynne ignored Alistair and revived Zevran, but did not heal his black eye. "You need crafting supplies?" she asked evenly.

Zevran nodded, his head pounding and his stomach churning. "For the antidote."

"Wait. What did she drink exactly?" asked Alistair.

Zevran didn't want to answer. "Where are the supplies?" he asked Wynne.

Alistair grabbed his arm. "What did she drink?"

"Th-th-the serum. I diluted it in the wine. I kept it with me, but after--then she took all of my supplies. I just assumed you knew it was in the wine bottle..."

Alistair wanted to kill Zevran, but the elf's facade was disappearing, and Alistair sensed remorse, however fleeting.

"We both drank the wine. Why am I not sick, too?"

"You already had the antidote," Zevran answered desperately.

Alistair looked at Wynne. "Supplies?"

Wynne downed a lyrium potion, trying to maintain her mana to sustain Sarah's breathing. "In my chamber..." She sighed. "Oghren, you show them."

"Er, right," grunted the dwarf. He ran off, followed by Zevran. Alistair pulled Sarah into his lap, trying to warm her body. Dog sat next to him.

Within minutes Oghren and Zevran returned with the potions bag. Zevran slid onto the ground and began quickly mixing ingredients together. Alistair watched him carefully, realizing that Zevran was pointedly making sure that Alistair could see what he was doing.

Finally, he handed the mixture to Alistair, who poured it into Sarah's mouth.

They waited.

Oghren burped quietly.

Leliana prayed.

Wynne drank another potion.

Dog whined.

Zevran's hands trembled.

Alistair's heart stopped. Sarah lurched forward in his arms and gasped. Wynne collapsed onto the floor, exhausted, and Zevran looked on, silent and motionless.

Sarah wrapped her arms around Alistair, laboriously gasping for air, her body heaving with each breath. _Gulp! Gulp! Gulp!_ Finally, she calmed down, but was still breathing heavily. Color returned to her face. Gradually she opened her eyes.

"Did you win?" she asked.

"We called it a draw," Alistair answered.

Zevran inched closer. "I am...sorry. So sorry..." his voice cracked.

"Sorry? For what?" Sarah asked.

Alistair opened his mouth to answer, but she fell asleep.

Zevran lightly touched Alistair's arm. "I am sorry, my friend."

"You tell her when she wakes up. I'm taking her back to bed."

"Very well," Zevran nodded. He collected his daggers and left the arena.


	54. Honest Intentions

CHAPTER 53

Alistair knew that he should have been packing, or planning, or fixing armor, or organizing supplies, or any number of things. But he wasn't. Instead, he was spending time in his favorite place in all the world. It mattered little to him that the beds were small, the decor cold and sharp, the fire barely simmering. He was warm, and she was warm, despite her third (or fourth) brush with death. Now that he knew she was going to be okay, he hoped she would not wake for some time, for he was happy, laying next to her, holding her in his arms.

But, there were things to do, places to go...and decisions to make. He did not know what she would do about Zevran; he did not know what she _should_ do about Zevran. The elf had proved himself a valuable fighter, an astute thinker, and, at times, a good friend. Zevran had also proved himself to be deceptive, cold, calculating, and untrustworthy. But, Alistair had seen the fear in Zevran's eyes when the elf realized it was his fault thier leader had fallen, and Alistair recognized that fear. Whatever Zevran's other flaws, Alistair knew that the former Crow meant Sarah no harm. Because of this, Alistair felt part of himself wanting to leap at the chance to rid their group of this assassin, while the other part of him felt an uncomfortable pity for the elf. Of course, Alistair wanted to pound Zevran's head in…but he did not want to kill him.

Alistair had to stop himself from being jealous, he knew that. He did not doubt her love for him, but he doubted his worthiness of it, feeling at some point she would tire of him, or that he would mess up, overstay his welcome, and she would tell him to leave. Everyone told him to leave eventually. Maric, his mother, Arl Eamon...and Alistair often wished himself gone as well, wished that he had been the one to die protecting Cailin, so that Duncan, wise and kind Duncan, would be alive instead of him. But, he had to make his mentor's sacrifice worth it, did he not? Alistair had many oaths to fulfill: defend his nation, serve the Grey Wardens, slay the archdemon, end the Blight. Only now, he did not have to do everything alone, and that gave him some comfort. Where would he be? Where would any of them be, were it not for her? Surely, Alistair would be a pile of tears sitting outside Flemeth's hut, Sten would be a starved prisoner, Leliana a hunted zealot...and the list went on.

She stirred beside him and pulled his hands tighter around her. "Thank you for staying with me," she said.

"There's nowhere I'd rather be."

She sighed, and he recognized it as a sigh of contentment. "I believe I had too much to drink," she said lightly.

"You could say that..." Did she not remember almost dying? Again?

"Where has everyone else got off to, then? We should be leaving soon." He hated when she woke up, already planning.

"Well, Zevran's been waiting outside to talk to you, and the others are at the tavern waiting for your orders."

"Why isn't Zev with them?"

She did not remember. Alistair pushed the covers down and sat up. "It wasn't the wine that made you pass out."

She rolled over to face him. "Oh?"

"No. The wine we had last night, and the wine you drank this morning, you boozer," he tried to smile, "was laced with...poison. Well, a serum actually."

She sat up quickly. "He didn't!" She paused, "How am I still here? Awake? Alive?"

Now was the time for Alistair to simply say that Zevran had tried to kill them. It would be easy, then, to be rid of him. But, Alistair couldn't lie to her. He took a deep breath. "He saved you, actually. He said that he diluted the mixture in the wine bottle, and since you took all of his crafting supplies away from him--good move, by the way--he assumed we--I--knew the serum was in the wine bottle." He paused. "I didn't...obviously."

"So, he wasn't trying to kill me?" she asked slowly.

Alistair sighed, hating himself with every word. "Not really, no."

She smiled, relieved. She narrowed her eyes and looked at him. "And why are you being so honest about it? Didn't you try to kill him in a duel just this morning?"

He smiled and blushed. "I was only trying to defend your honor, that is what you asked, is it not?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"Er...he feels bad, I think. Well, as much as a person like Zevran can feel bad about something."

She looked at her hands and sighed (not one of contentment this time). "I think there's a lot more to Zev than he lets on..."

Alistair felt silly asking this, but he had to. "Does he...have feelings for you?"

She nodded. "I think so."

"And, do you..."

"No." She looked at Alistair again. "But I do care about him, like I would Leliana, or Dog, or Wynne." She placed a hand on his clean-shaven cheek. "But not like I care for you. I hope you know that."

He kissed her hand. "Then, I suppose we should tell him he can stay with us?"

She nodded. Maker, if she asked him to jump into boiling lava, he would do it, and he would do it with a smile on his face.

* * *

The entire retinue left Orzammar shortly following lunch, during which Sarah ate heartily. Sten and Shale took the lead, carving paths in the snow, both at ease to be keeping company with a silent fellow warrior. Dog followed them, yapping at random trees and plants, occasionally playing fetch with Leliana. Wynne, who had whispered her approval to Sarah before their departure, walked rather contentedly next to Oghren, who was marveling at how fresh the air was above ground. He was also continuously fascinated with the healer's...staff. Zevran and Morrigan walked side by side, and the elf creatively thinking of new ways to compliment the witch, who, despite her frustration with being ogled, was amused by his clever turns of phrase.

Bringing up the rear were the last two Grey Wardens of Ferelden, hands clasped together beneath a shared fur wrap. They were each filled with equal parts sadness and happiness, hope and despair, excitement and dread. And they were both wholly filled with love. So, instead of discussing strategy, Arl Eamon, or the Landsmeet, they whispered naughty things to each other and pretended they were alone on a walk through a warm, sunny meadow, where birds chirped, flowers bloomed, and the taint did not beckon to evil dragons.

* * *

Elsewhere, nobles gathered for a stiff pint. A few sons, elves, and one queen were captured and kept in the dungeon of the Amaranthine. Two brothers awaited the return of the rightful king of Ferelden. One blood mage killed and escaped from five Templars. And one regent sauntered into Denerim, regaling his troops with tales of the Orleisian war, of meetings with the great King Maric, and of the traitorous, foolhardy Grey Wardens.

* * *

The south of Ferelden fell, with few nobles, smiths, or peasants escaping.

* * *

"I love you," they said together, stopping for a stolen kiss under some snow-covered trees. This time they imagined being beneath the stars in Highever, Lady Cousland and her betrothed, who did not have to be the king of Ferelden, if he didn't want to be.


	55. The Alliance

_AN: Apparently, many of you thought the last chapter was the end of the story. It is not, I promise you! I didn't mean to give that indication at all, so you have my apologies. We're going to see this thing through to the end. I promise, you'll know when we get there. I'll put "THE END" after the final chapter, just in case._

CHAPTER 54

_An alliance…of sorts._

The first night of camp following the departure of Orzammar Sarah realised that she and Zevran both had a unique gift. They could sit at the campfire, take in all the activities at once, and know exactly what everyone else was thinking. At the moment, Wynne was embarrassed, but trying to hide her anxiety by mixing poultices. Oghren was feeling awkward, but content, and developing quite the fascination for the healer, although he did not understand why she wished to keep their sharing a tent a secret. Leliana was playing fetch with Dog, and with each toss was checking the perimeter for intruders. Morrigan was not to be found. Sten was devising various battle strategies, and longing to eat a cookie. Alistair was standing by a boulder a ways off, skinning a deer, his mind fleeting from thoughts of the Landsmeet, darkspawn, the archdemon, and her.

Sarah gave up trying to read Zevran for the night. All she could glean from watching the elf was that his black eye was painful, and he was a little hurt that no one would let him have a poultice or that neither mage would heal him. Whatever else he was thinking, he didn't wish to share it. She collected her polished blades and tossed them into a weapons case nearby. She wandered over to her Templar, admiring his handiwork.

"I didn't know you knew how to hunt," she said.

He slowly cut the deer hide away from the meat, turning his head when blood splashed up from the carcass. Sarah jumped back.

He laughed at her. "You'll take on 20 darkspawn at a second's notice, but you flinch at deer blood?"

Slowly she stepped forward. "I'm already in my clean clothes," she playfully whined. Then, she stood behind him, gripped his hips, and ducked around him. "Protect me from the yucky blood!"

He set down his knife, and chased her around a small circle, threatening to put his bloody hands on her face and shirt.

"You are evil," she seethed. She stood with her hands on her hips, attempting to look angry, and trying to determine for how long she could play the part of a distressed maiden.

He raised his eyebrows and watched her. He could think of nothing clever to say, so he turned back to the task at hand.

She ambled up behind him, and despite the blood on his front, wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself against his back. She slipped her hands under his shirt and playfully fingered the buckle on his belt. He grumbled and she sighed wistfully. She was looking forward to tonight, neither one of them had to be on watch, she was clean, feeling rather feminine for once, and their schedule was slightly looser than before. She ran one hand along his stomach before pulling away completely.

"So, where did you learn to do that?" she asked.

"What? Threaten maidens or carve up a deer?"

She smiled easily, and he felt a slight twinge in his stomach; she was beautiful, in every light, at any time, but especially when she smiled.

She shrugged. "Either, or both."

He sighed and tossed the unused hide into a pile on the ground. He began sectioning off parts of the meat as he answered. "Duncan taught me, actually. For all the effort the chantry put into teaching us to hunt mages, I never learned to fend for my own food on the road. After Duncan recruited me, I traveled with him, and picked up a lot." He started stabbing the steaks more forcefully than he needed to.

She stood beside him and put her arm around him, trying to stay out of his way as he worked. She spoke with a deep, even voice. "We're going to get Loghain. He'll pay for what he's done."

"Are you scared?" he asked.

She didn't want to admit that she was frightened to her core, that she was afraid of the archdemon, and death, and the landsmeet, afraid of leading her friends into a doomed battle against the darkspawn.

He took out some cheesecloth and began wrapping the meat. "I only ask because I want to tell you it's okay, if you are scared."

She watched his hands silently.

"We're all behind you, no matter what. You're not alone. I mean, I can't speak for Morrigan because she never speaks for herself, but the rest of us, we're here."

"How do you do that?" she said softly.

"Do what? Fold cheesecloth?"

"Know exactly what to say."

He shrugged and turned to look at her. He smiled, "Duncan wanted to keep me alive for some reason..."

She stepped around him and pulled him close. "I love you, Alistair." She strolled away to put up their tent and make their bed.

Alistair watched her walk away and shook his head in disbelief. Then, he went to the creek to wash his hands, before carrying the meat over to the campfire, handing it to Oghren for preparation. Alistair kept one steak with him and strolled over to Zevran's log.

"Here," said the Templar, handing the elf the steak.

Zevran's first instinct was to jump from his seat and draw his daggers. Instead, he tensed up before taking the offering from Alistair and placing it over his sore eye.

"So..." Alistair said. "I guess she decided to let you stay." He did not tell Zevran that Sarah had related their entire conversation to him.

"That she did, you must still have use for my amazing skills."

Alistair sighed. "Technically, I'm not supposed to be mad at you anymore--"

"Ah, yes, but you are. It is fine, I quite like a bit of domestic tension myself..."

"As much as it hurts me to say it, Zevran, I know that you and I agree on at least one thing."

"Oh, and what is that, my good friend? The love of camping? The taste of a good dwarven ale?"

Alistair was surprised, and relieved, that Zevran did not mention her. "We both agree," deep breath, "that we don't want anything to happen to...to her."

"Hmm?"

"Look, I don't know how this is all going to play out, the Landsmeet--" Alistair rubbed the back of his head. "--the Landsmeet, the kingship, the Blight--I don't know that I can--that they will let me...take care of her…stay with her--"

"Kingship?"

That's right, Sarah hadn't told anyone else except Wynne. "I'm heir to the throne," he said softly.

Zevran laughed. "You? The Grey Warden who can't make a decision without crying about it first?! Ha ha ha ha ha!"

Alistair did not move, but he counted the steps it would take him to find his sword. "Yes."

"Wait, you're serious, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"I know you're not familiar with Ferelden government, but the nobles place a high importance on the bloodline. Arl Eamon has all but ordered me to take the throne."

"This is a good thing, is it not? Ruling the kingdom, power, prestige. And I'm sure that you'll need the services of a skilled assassin--"

"I do not want to be king. I want to be a Grey Warden." He sighed. "But that's not my point. My point is this: I know that you and I are not exactly...compatriots, but I also know that you'd never intentionally do anything to hurt Sarah."

"Hmm...this may be true..."

"So, if I'm not there...will you--"

Zevran stood and slapped Alistair on the back. "Ah, yes, you wish to hire me. I accept." Then the elf pranced into the woods, to do Maker knows what.

Alistair stood slowly, filled with relief and regret. He spied his love, wearing yet another set of clean clothes. He decided that they should skip supper and turn in early. She was in agreement.


	56. Small Comforts

_AN: Special thanks to coffee-house-girl for the suggestion for this chapter. And for scolding me after that last chapter... Here, I hope to redeem myself.  
_

CHAPTER 55

Wynne, to an outsider (and sometimes her friends) seemed very prim and proper. At times, she was prim and proper, neatly dressed, hair tied into a bun, potions organized, staff clean and polished. Her wine was always organized, by year and region.

But Wynne was a different person than she was 6 months ago, before she left the Circle, before she entered the Fade, before she almost died. Perhaps that is why, against her better judgement, she found herself sharing her tent with a drunken dwarf. Apparently, he had been married, but Sarah had killed his wife. He was not entirely bitter about it, though he missed her.

Wynne was nothing like Branka, and Oghren liked that. Oghren also liked playing a fun game, where he would cut his fingers with a small knife, and Wynne would heal the skin back together. That is how the old mage and the scurrilous dwarf very nearly, kind of, became a friends with benefits scandal among the companions.

* * *

Elsewhere, Alistair and Sarah sat in their tent, sharing a bottle of non-poisoned wine. He sat with his legs crossed, his fingers twitching across nearby surfaces, armor, pillows, clothes, weapons. He avoided looking at her. She was worried, for it was not often that he did not tell her what he was thinking, and it was not very often that she could not guess it.

"What is it, Alistair?" She passed him the bottle, hoping the drink would calm him.

"Do I ever get to make a choice?" he said angrily. He punched the ground. "First the abbey, then the chantry, and now, I have to be king!"

She took the bottle from him and set it outside the tent; perhaps alcohol was not the best medicine this time. "You don't _have_ to be king," she said slowly.

"Don't I? Did you see the way Eamon looked at me when we were at Redcliffe? Like I was trying to dismantle the country by saying I didn't want to be king!"

"Eamon's old-fashioned; he's too wrapped up in the notion of noble blood."

Alistair narrowed his eyes and glared at her. "It's not just a notion. Everyone here believes it, we're chosen by the Maker by divine right, how can we pull a country together if we don't put the right person on the throne?" He cursed and ran his hand through his hair. He knew they wouldn't let him be king and marry a fellow Warden; he had to produce an heir. But he couldn't tell her that; it would hurt her too much, it would hurt him to much.

"You said yourself that Anora was a good queen."

"What does that matter?"

"And she has popular support. The people love her. If we could convince Anora that Loghain needs to be taken down, her allegiance to us and her rejection of her father would speak volumes to the masses and to the other Arls and Banns."

"Yeah, good luck with that," he said bitterly.

"And I..."she took a deep breath and sat up straight. "And I am the teryn of Highever, rightfully. I'll have a say in the new ruler as well."

She took another deep breath, and hesitated before telling him. "And...I have a few favors I could ask from some of my father's connections."

"What connections?"

"I had many...suitors before Howe's betrayal."

This was not helping him calm down.

She took his hand and held his forearm. "It's nothing like that. I never met half of those sons, but their parents...well, they adored me. We would often speak of the equal treatment of elves, maintaining good relations with Orleis--a trend my father started--and democratizing the government."

He could not honestly say he was surprised. "How in Thedas did you have nobles thinking they should give up power to the commoners?"

She laughed lightly. "Well, I don't think I had them entirely convinced, but I used their own egos against them. I told them that if it was truly the Maker's wish for them to rule, then elections would not be a problem. The Maker would ensure that the right people sat on the government." She paused, realizing how excited these debates had made her in her former life. "And, I showed them that maintaining an army with commoners' electoral support would actually be cheaper than conscripting lesser nobles into the guard simply because the commoners would work for less coin. I kind of felt bad about that argument, commoners should be paid the same, but it had them thinking, at least."

It was Alistair's turn to be amazed. "How do you do that?" he breathed.

"Do what?"

"Have a solution to every problem? An alternative to every argument?"

She attempted to wink at him, but instead her eyes shut, and two tears slid down her face. "Well, my parents kept me alive for some reason..."

He pulled her across his lap and kissed her softly. He wiped away her tears. "To think, Duncan and your parents spared our lives so that we could sit in this tent and--"

"Caboodle?" she smiled, and kissed him again.

Between pecks on her mouth, Alistair asked, "So, if you wanted to, you could keep me from being king?"

She stopped. She nodded, "Yes, I think so. If that's what you wanted, truly."

He smirked. "Well, that deserves a favor, I think."

"Oh?"

He slid her from his lap onto the bed, and pulled off her shirt, then he pulled off his shirt.

"Oh!" She grinned and unfastened his belt.

Alistair kissed her hard and deep, as she slid his pants to the floor.

"What reward do you seek?" he drawled.

"Only you," she said, pulling him closer.

He hoped he could comply.


	57. Uncertainty

_AN: Slightly non-canon, but trust me, I think you'll like where it goes.  
_

CHAPTER 56

Alistair was doing something he was not at all proud of. He was spying. He had followed his love to the river and hidden in the trees. He would like to say that he did not do this very often, but that would be a lie. He told himself that he simply wanted to keep an eye on her in case anything went wrong, but that was not the whole truth, either.

Usually, she washed quickly, often it was cold and she was not one to idle time away from the camp and other duties. This time was a little different. Of course, Dog was with her, but instead of undressing and stepping quickly into the water, Sarah sat fully clothed on the shore and petted her beloved Mabari. Then she talked to him.

"He really doesn't want to be king, you know. I've tried telling him he'd be a good one, but he doesn't believe in himself."

_Agreeable bark._

"I know, typical. He doesn't see what the rest of us see, does he?"

_Questioning whine._

"He would do anything to save this nation. He's a fierce protector--"

_Interrupting bark_.

"Well, for me, I know, but he's loyal to all of us, and he has a strong sense of duty. And, Dog, you know his compassion, there seems to be no end to it, well, until it comes to sly, competitive elves."

_Bark_.

"I know, some would say that means he's too soft, but he isn't. He is wise and merciful. Duncan knew that, I'm sure. Perhaps Cailin did, too."

_Happy bark_.

"No, I don't think self doubt is the only reason he doesn't want to be king, either." She pet her hound fondly and clutched her Warden's Oath.

_Sad whine_.

"He could marry someone else...perhaps that would make it easier for him."

_Angry bark_!

"Do you think he would really stand up to them? I want to say that I think he would, but I don't know...I really didn't think this one through, did I?"

_Whine_.

"Well, whether I'm in love with him or not, it's his decision to make. I'm not sure Anora is as good as Alistair thinks. You know how I hate to judge others, Dog, but I can't help to be a little concerned that she never spent time with her husband, like she only wanted to marry him because he was king. And that's something I'm sure Loghain would have encouraged."

_Angry bark_.

She laughed lightly. "Yes, we'll get that bastard, before this is over, I'm sure." She sighed. "I never thought I would have to make this decision, my friend, and I never thought I'd have my heart wrapped up in it so much, either. I just want to run away some days, sneak off and find that archdemon, throw up once or twice, and kill the damn thing."

_Happy bark_.

"Ugh, but we have to wade through the politics...and our feelings." She gave her Mabari a hug and trotted to the river's edge. She glanced around the forest, and Alistair ducked farther into the tree lining. She stripped quickly and jumped into the water.

Alistair stood and rubbed the back of his head. So she thought he wouldn't be king because it meant they couldn't be together. How did she know that? How did she always guess everything so accurately? He took a deep breath and leaned against a tree. He was angry with himself for being so weak, for being frightened, for questioning himself. He did not want to--and could not bring himself to--imagine his world without her in it.

He went to find Morrigan; he had to go shopping.

* * *

Alistair sat on a stoop by the fire, leaning his hands on his knees. He had made lots of plans for the night, which was to be their last at camp before meeting Arl Eamon in Denerim. They were, in fact, camping in the same spot they had camped in the night after Sarah had been injured months ago. It seemed like a lifetime to him, and yet it seemed like it had happened just seconds before.

Morrigan ambled up to the communal campfire, carrying a small black case. Leliana knowingly joined the witch and the Templar in the circle.

Morrigan opened the case and pulled out a small pouch, the contents of which she poured into Alistair's hand.

"What are you plans with these?" she asked.

Alistair fingered the collection of rings and smiled to himself. "I only need one. Are there any that you are especially attached to?" He was trying to be polite; he did not want to take something from Morrigan unnecessarily.

Morrigan scoffed. "These are the ones I have no care for. I simply keep them to barter with. As I said, what are your intentions with these, or with whatever one you're choosing?"

Leliana cooed. She placed a hand on Alistair's forearm. "Are you? Are you really? But at camp? That's not very romantic."

Alistair was annoyed with all of this attention. "We could all be dead tomorrow."

Both of the women were silent. Morrigan was smirking, taking particular delight in Alistair's blushing face.

He sighed. "I didn't mean that...I just...now or never, right?"

Leliana took the rings from Alistair and began examining them. "Well, you can do what you want, but it doesn't seem that you've planned this out very well. You should have started shopping for a ring a long time ago. These things take a lot of effort."

Alistair had in fact, been planning a special evening for his fellow Warden, but until this evening, he had not considered jewelry.

"Oooh, how about this one?" Leliana said, holding up a golden ring with a ruby cased in an extravagant setting. "It is marvelous."

Alistair shook his head. "No, that's not quite right."

Leliana shrugged her shoulders and continued looking.

Then Alistair saw it, the perfect ring. He picked it from the bard's hand and held it up to the firelight.

"No," said Leliana, "definitely not. "It's not even gold, it's just a dull, boring silver."

"It's perfect," he mused.

Zevran strolled up to the group, curious to see what was so interesting that it even drew Morrigan's attention.

"Hmm, rings" he said. "Why, I wonder, has jewelry captured our attention so fiercely?"

Leliana, looking rather disappointed, explained, "He's planning to ask her..."

"...to marry me," Alistair finished, realizing how comfortable the words sat in his mouth.

"And he's picked out this boring ring," Leliana complained.

"Oh?" commented Zevran. "Let me see."

Alistair handed him the ring and Zevran examined it.

Zevran handed it back. "I agree with Alistair. She's not usually one given to fancy adornments...or flashy rubies and such. Besides, large stones worn on the finger do not quite fit under gloves or around helms very comfortably."

"Exactly," answered Alistair.

Morrigan shrugged and examined her own hand, which was adorned with three large-stoned rings, and she was quite pleased with herself. "So, that is your choice then?"

Alistair answered, "Uh--"

Leliana jumped up, spying their leader returning from her bath in the nearby river. She ran up to her and led her away from the campfire.

"Um, yes. How much did you want for it?"

Morrigan pursed her lips, and was going to say something, but changed her mind. "Consider it a gift."

"Really?" both Alistair and Zevran said at once.

She nodded. "I don't see the point in an engagement, but if you must, then I would be happy to contribute."

Alistair grinned, but he tried to hide it. "Thanks, Morrigan."

Zevran slapped him on the back. "Good luck, my friend. You are a lucky man... If she agrees, that is."


	58. Fourth Gift

CHAPTER 57

Alistair spied Sarah where he had told her to meet him, just outside a makeshift bath, which was clothed in canvas and warmed by a fire heating a cauldron of water. He approached her carefully. She already smelled of lavendar and rose blossoms, and his senses were a little confused, unable to account for the image and the scent. She had always smelled of armor polish and mint leaves. But he liked this new aroma, it made things almost homely, almost normal, as if they did not have a Blight to stop, as if she were not still thinking of making him king.

He watched her face carefully, as he walked. It felt like time was slowing down, as if all of his senses were absorbing everything at once to tuck away in a pleasant memory that he would relive in years to come. The smell tingling his nostrils and warming his throat. The slightly chilled night air, prickling his bare arms. The sound of distant chatter at the camp, fires crackling, stray crickets chirping, and her slow even breaths growing louder as he came closer.

Her smile started in her eyes, her top lids rose a little, her brow furrowed slightly, and her pupils grew larger. The corners of her mouth straightened, then lifted, into a grin. Her cheeks flushed, and she giggled quietly. To the world, all this happened in an instant, but to Alistair, it took days, weeks, years, and he did not want them to end. Her eyes reflected the firelight, and danced in eager, elated expectation.

Her warmth and happiness, this particular expression she wore, seemingly whenever she looked at him, made him feel like he could accomplish anything, could conquer anything, that he would do whatever she commanded of him, as long as he could see that face day after day. In that moment, as her smile glossed over his body and his heart, Alistair, the bastard prince of Ferelden decided that, taint or no taint, throne or no throne, he would not let anything come between him and his love. Almost instantly, he felt at ease, as if this was his one important decision and all the others were secondary. He was not as frightened, anymore, of becoming king, he was not dreading a lecture from Arl Eamon, or condescension from the other nobles he may have to face. Instead Alistair was free. She had given him that, and much more. So, he was glad that he had planned this special night for them, and saw it as the first in a lifelong series of romantic indulgences.

He met her by the cauldron, the water simmering and warming them both. Her eyes followed him as he came closer, and her head lifted to watch him hover over her. He kissed her without reserve, his heart and mind soothed by his resolve, his inhibitions erased by comfort and security. He brushed one stray lock of hair from her face and watched her eyes, which were watching him. Finally, he smiled.

He reached into his pocket and removed a small pouch, then he knelt to the ground. She started to squat too, to see what he was fiddling with, but he gently pushed her away. He took one of her hands and continued watching her face.

"My love" he said, "I have been waiting for you my entire life. It took you nearly dying for me to realize it, but I know that I, Alistair Theiren, would be nothing were it not for you. I am honored and grateful that you have shared so much of yourself with me, that you are willing to spend your time with a silly Templar who can't read a map." He sighed, and he surprised himself with a couple of tears. He found her eyes again which were also glistening. "Just so that there is no more confusion, no questions between us, I want to tell you something, and I want to ask you something." He took another deep breath. "I don't know what will happen, to either one of us, in the coming days or weeks, but I do know that we will not be apart; I will not leave your side for any reason, unless you tell me to go. I want us to be together for as long as we both shall live; I do not want to live any other way." He paused. "Sarah Cousland, will you marry me?"

He had expected her to make a snide joke, since they were already sort of engaged. But she didn't. Instead, she released a little hiccup, and started sobbing. He stood up quickly, unsure of how to take her outburst.

She threw her arms around him so suddenly and forcefully, that he lost his breath. She clung to him desperately and he felt the bones in his back would break. He hugged her back.

He whispered, "I have a ring, if you'll wear it."

She slid her left hand into his, and he placed the thin silver band on her finger. She found the gift perfect. It was simple, unadorned, and would fit comfortably beneath her drake scale gloves.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "You may have to be king..."

He buried his face in her blossom-scented hair. "Let the nobles decide who sits on the throne. I have already chosen my queen."


	59. Fifth Gift

_If you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it's your world for the moment.  
- Georgia O'Keeffe_

CHAPTER 58

Sarah finally dried her eyes and looked up at Alistair for the first time since his question. He smiled and stroked her hair. Then they kissed, rather simply, but happily. She took both of his hands in hers, and he raised her left hand to his face and they both stared at her finger.

He cleared his throat. "Now that I've clearly claimed you as my property, I want to give you a good looking over, to test the inventory."

She drew back her hands and glared at him. "Oh, our transaction is not complete, not yet." She smiled broadly. "Wait here."

She tore through the woods, moving quickly since she was out of her armor and heavy boots. She found the main camp, but stayed hidden from everyone. She found her pack and removed a small lock box, which held, among other things, a plate from her mother's armor, a stamp of the Cousland seal, a pair of earrings from Ser Gilmore, and her father's ring, which he had given to her before she left Highever for the final time. She removed the ring, and swallowed thickly to keep from crying. Throwing the box flippantly back into her pack, she turned to run back to...to...her fiance.

Then, she ran into something. "Hmm..." said Zevran. "Where are you running off to, my good lady?"

She took a step back and quickly hid the ring in her pocket. She wondered how Zevran had spotted her when she had been very careful to remain in the shadows.

He smiled. "Don't look so frightened. I only want to tell you congratulations. Truly, I am happy for you."

"Thank you." She felt uneasy.

He stepped back. "I wish you the best, my friend. You are both very lucky."

She watched him carefully, but did not say anything. He looked a little sad.

He moved aside. "Go, you saucy minx, your love is waiting for you." He winked.

She smiled and gave him a loose hug. Then she ran back to the clearing, where Alistair was indeed waiting for her.

"I'm back," she said.

"I'm glad."

"Now, for the other part of our transaction..." she pulled the ring from her pocket and took Alistair's hand. "Will you, my love, consent to wear this ring, which used to belong to the teryn of Highever."

"Y-y-your father's ring?"

She nodded and ran her thumb along the outside of his hand. "It was his last gift to me, and I want you to have it."

"My lady," he said, "I will accept whatever you give me."

She slipped the ring onto his finger, surprised that it fit him perfectly. She kissed his hand. "Now, it appears, we both own newly purchased property. Perhaps taking inventory of our new wares is of utmost priority." She lowered her voice. "Is there a special method you have in mind?"

"Let me show you." He placed his hand around her waist and led her into the large tent he had set up that afternoon.

She gasped in surprise. The structure was divided into two sections. One was more familiar, it housed their bed and blankets, but resting on the pillows was that beautiful withered rose, and he had sprinkled fresh flower petals on the covers. In the other section, were bottles of scented oils, one jar of bath salts, a few small cloths, and two towels. She stood in the center and looked around.

Alistair carried the cauldron from the fire into the tent, which was more than tall enough for him to stand up straight. He set the small cauldron on the table and watched her closely. He took her hand and gave her the tour.

"The rose," he explained, "reminds us of our past. The petals ensure our present. And together," he led her to the table, "we shall make a future."

"That is the silliest thing I have ever heard," she said simply, but she smiled at him.

"Give it time, it'll grow on you, I promise." He let go of her waist and starting mixing the oils and salts into the warm water.

"What exactly are you doing? Where did you get that recipe from?"

He smiled. "Not the elf. It's an...aphrodisiac, to be used by old lovers before the man goes off to war. It is supposed to bring out the best in each of the lovers so that their last night together is memorable."

"But I--"

He finished mixing the water and cradled her face. "No, my love, this is not our last night together, but we are going to war. We have not exactly been able to have a romantic courtship, but I want this night to be memorable enough to see us both through the hard days ahead."

"I think...that...this is...a brilliant idea." She paused and grinned. "So, what do we do?"


	60. The Ritual

_AN: Some very MATURE ADULT stuff going on below. If you're not up for that sort of thing, then you should skip this chapter. I'll start the next one with a cooled down summary, so you won't have to worry about missing character or plot development._

* * *

CHAPTER 59

_Takes place immediately after the previous chapter._

"We will have to be patient," he warned. This was not a method they were used to, since moments alone were few, they were almost nearly ravenous for each other and did not require much to work up to the deed.

She gave him a half smile. "How patient, exactly?" She slipped her foot between his and leaned up against him.

He pushed her back gently. "We will--Do you want me to tell you all at once, or as we go?'

She thought carefully, but decided that surprises were suiting her quite well this evening. "Lead the way, Ser Templar, I'll follow your every move."

Maker, why was he still blushing after all this time? He took a deep breath, reassuring himself that he knew every step of this ritual, he had been reading the texts for weeks, before he was taken by spiders, before he was poisoned, before she was poisoned, before, even, he had decided to marry her, before he had decided to move beyond the silly promises of a flippant conversation.

She watched him closely, when she saw his cheeks flush, she blushed, too, although she did not know why. Their tent was lit by the torches outside and candles inside that he had placed intermittently throughout the rooms, and his skin appeared tan in the orange light, his hair was almost a light brown, and his eyes a deep amber.

He took her hand and led her to stand by the cauldron, whose mixture was a combination of the most pleasant fragrances she'd ever experienced in her life collapsing into a tantalizing scent that immediately warmed her skin and her body. She took a deep breath. "Mmmm," she sighed. She felt soft and moldable, yet entirely in control.

He smiled at her contentment, and the scent affected his body similarly. He decided that he did not need to instruct her. She was looking at him intently, waiting for him to show her how to proceed.

He unlaced his shirt and pulled it off. Then, he nodded to her, and she took off her topshirt, which was identical to his, only smaller. Then, for good measure, she removed her undershirt, but not her bra.

He smiled easily, and untied the drawstring of his pants and slipped them off. Again, she followed his lead and took off her own pants. Then, he took a deep breath and slid his underpants to the floor. He nodded to her.

She blushed, even more fiercely, for it was the first time _she_ would stand naked before him, instead of lying between blankets or remaining clad in a thin, but concealing robe. She unstrapped her bra first, but moved slowly. She looked at him, and to her surprise he was only watching her face. His attempted coyness put her at ease, and she threw the garment into the corner, and slid her own panties onto the floor. She felt cold and hot at once, exposed and enclosed, anxious and comfortable, impatient and at ease.

He took one step forward and reached for a cloth from the table. Then, he realized she had not taken down her hair, so he stopped and locked eyes with her, and ran his hand over his own hair.

She mouthed, "Oh!" and quickly untied her pigtails, tossing the bands onto the table. She raised her eyebrows, and he nodded. He took the cloth and soaked it in the cauldron, then he removed it and wrung the water onto her head. Droplets fell down her hair and onto her face, and her eyelids fluttered, but she continued watching him intently.

He soaked the cloth again, and washed her face. The strange, tingling mixture heightened the sensations on her skin. He spoke with some carefully chosen words as he continued washing her body.

_"Your first green-eyed glance," _

He drained the water over her shoulders, pressed the cloth along her neck.

_"Burned into my chest."_

He moved hesitantly, but smoothly, washing each breast. She flinched slightly, but remained otherwise still.

_"The desire of some eyes like those."_

He massaged the water into each of her arms, cleaning each of her fingers individually.

_"My course was your call."_

Then, her stomach, each of his movements making her want to move and remain motionless at the same time. Next, her hips.

_"To your bed of emeralds."_

Then, each of her legs, he re-dipped the cloth as needed, and the water drained onto her feet, every inch of her skin was tingling.

_"Waters jumped in glints of light."_

He dipped the cloth into the water one last time. With his free hand he grazed his fingers along her arm, then held her hand. Then, even more slowly than before, he took the fabric, drenched in the warm, steaming concoction, and pressed it between her legs.

_"And then closed over my body."_

Her middle convulsed and she squeezed her hand around his. As many nights as they had shared, he had never touched her like this. Every part of her seemed to be dancing in merriment, every atom of her being hovered at the comfortable temperature between warm and hot, every pulsation vibrating between desire and fulfillment.

He held his hand there, surprised to feel her move so freely and so smoothly just at his touch. She gripped his shoulder with her free hand, and slowly, he removed the cloth, and handed it to her.

There was no question on her face. And she returned the favor, draining the water over his head, streams of it tingling his neck and face. She had no prepared poem for him, so she made something up.

_"In the impossible darkness of my dreams and my heart, I saw the light in you."_

She caressed his neck and back, pausing once or twice to watch the streams navigate his chest and abdomen.

_"The light you so freely shared with me guided me back to life."_

She washed each shoulder, each arm, each hand, each finger. He loved the feel of her own fingertips against his skin.

_"You lifted me upon your strong shoulders, carried my cold hand in yours."_

She took her time with his chest, slowly tracing each indentation between his muscles, and used her other hand to graze across his multiple but faint scars.

_"You held my healing heart in your chest so that our lives started to beat_ _together."_

Next, his hips, and his legs. She soaked his curling hairs with the strange potion, the glistening surface outlining his calf and thigh muscles.

_"And we stumbled, first separately, then together."_

She took a deep breath, the next part was frightening for her. She squatted in front of him. He was erect and strong, and she had never really marveled at his machinery before, only at the way he felt inside of her. She was hesitant, but curious. She dropped the cloth in her nervousness, and did not pick it up. She slowly wrapped her fingers and palm around him.

He groaned, and she was even more frightened, but she felt empowered. She saw the other muscles in his body contract. He took her arm.

"Let me look at you," he breathed.

She stood and found his face smiling and frowning all at once. He kissed her lips softly.

Her patience was nearly spent and she trembled. She threw her arms around his shoulders and jumped onto him. He stumbled backwards, and landed on the bed. Her knees straddled his hips, and she situated herself over him.

He reached up, one hand cradling her cheek, the other massaging her breast.

It did not take them long, and soon they were both moaning in duet of passion.

When they were finished, he held her tightly in his arms, and ran his hand through her hair.

She was happy, of course, but slightly confused. When they both slowed their breathing, she whispered, "Why don't you want me to touch you?"

He was quiet, and pulled her arm around his torso. "I want to watch your face," he said. "I want to see you every possible second." He hoped he did not sound too prudish or traditional.

"Well, we'll work up to that then," she smiled. There was still so much to learn, so much to experience. They were just getting started.

* * *

_Author's end note: Alistair's bit of poetry comes from the Dark Moor song, "Green eyes."_


	61. Fears Run Deep

_In the last chapter, our Wardens shared a night of passionate and emotional love-making. Alistair talked a lot about her beautiful eyes and she talked about his undying love, which inspired her to rebuild her life after Arl Howe had shattered it.  
_

_Now we join them a few hours before dawn._

* * *

CHAPTER 60

She yawned for what seemed like hours. "I am so happy that I don't want to go to sleep," she said. She was laying on her side with her head resting on his shoulder. One of his arms wrapped around her, and he held her ringed hand in his.

He turned her hand over and looked at the silver band. She felt his chest rise and sink under her head. She snuggled even closer to him, breathing in the combination of his skin and the strange potion he had mixed for them.

He smiled and let go of her hand and started fingering her hair. "So, I fooled you, did I? Good to know."

She sighed. "And here I was thinking that I was the one who seduced you." She ran her fingers across his chest.

They were quiet for a few moments, and she had to ask. "Alistair, what made you decide to ask me?"

He didn't want to tell her that had been watching her when she thought she was alone. No, that seemed like a very Antivan thing to do. So, he told the truth, just not all of it. "After we talked about...my being king and not being king, I realized that I was being very...selfish." He sighed. "I may have to, as much as I don't want to, but I don't want to do it without you. I don't want to do anything without you."

"But what about Highever?" she asked softly.

"Well, we'll restore it to your family, of course."

"Alistair, I don't have a family."

He pulled her closer. "I'm sorry my love, I didn't mean to--"

She kissed his chest. "I know." She paused. "I am so glad that I have you...I don't care where we are."

"I feel the same way." He kissed the top of her head, and began to snore.

Eventually, her eyelids fell shut, and she welcomed a little sleep to close the most perfect night of her 22 year life.

***

She woke up, sweating and breathless. She scrambled in the dark tent, fumbling through burnt out candles and random bits of clothing. He body was tense. She couldn't find her blades fast enough. She felt sick, her head pounded. And she felt, actually felt, dark fire collapsing around her. She stumbled, tripping over her tired feet. She ripped the ties of the tent flap and stormed out.

Her chest heaved, she held her swords at the ready, spinning in circles, studying the sky. The wet, frozen grass poked into her feet. Then she realized she was naked, naked trying to slay the archdemon. She felt like she was going to be sick again. She breathed so heavily that each inhalation and exhalation flooded her ears with volume. She imagined the screech that was not there. She smelled the broodmother that did not exist.

Alistair's bare feet hit the ground next to her. He wrapped her in the blanket and she dropped her weapons.

"He's here. He's coming for us," she breathed. "He can see us."

"We're ready for him. In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death--"

"Sacrifice."

* * *

Zevran, with daggers drawn, had almost reached their tent before Alistair had emerged with the blanket. Why was his captor parading around naked with swords? Who was attacking her? Then, he remembered. The dreams. Who had the archdemon killed this time? Who was dying? Why did the Wardens speak of sacrifice?

His ears pricked; there was a commotion at the main camp.

* * *

Sarah clutched his shoulder. "They're here."

She ran to the tent and found their clothes. He grabbed their weapons. They ran, pulling on pants and shirts as they stumbled through the woods. At least 30 of the creatures seethed around their friends' tents. Everyone except Zevran and Shayle had been jarred awake by the ambush. No one was wearing any armor, most of them didn't have on any shoes.

Morrigan showered the area with a blizzard, targeting the demons and avoiding her allies. Wynne tossed the witch lyrium as she maintained arcane shields around...all of them.

Sarah ran into the fray, followed by her Templar. They shoved down five genlocks attacking the archer, who then whipped out a dagger and stabbed each of the villains in turn. Dog defended Shayle and Oghren, jumping into the air to clench his teeth around the unarmored darkspawn necks.

The 23 remaining darkspawn flooded the Wardens, soon Sarah and Alistair were surrounded. Wynne couldn't maintain their shields. Morrigan could not see to aim. Suddenly, seven of the beasts went flying through the air, replaced by a lone Qunari, wielding his beloved Asala. Leliana and Zevran slipped in beside him, stabbing the foul creatures repeatedly. The Wardens looked up, and before either one of them could strike another blow, all of the darkspawn laid slain before them.

"Are you injured, kadaan?"

"No, Sten. How did you do _that_? And Zev and Lil, you moved so fast... And Wynne, you were so powerful... And Dog, so quick..."

They all gazed at their leader, who after having her camp ambushed by darkspawn and being nearly killed, was smiling.

"We're ready. We are ready. Let's get to Denerim. We have a Blight to stop."

Before she could leave to pack up the camp, Alistair dropped his shield and pulled her into a long, deep kiss.

* * *

Zevran wished he could at least hug her, to make sure she was still alive, and to tell her that he would never let her get that close to death again.


	62. Sixth Gift

CHAPTER 61

The world, to her, seemed at peace, though she knew it was not. The path to Denerim was empty, this early in the morning, but the dirt road was well traveled, not doubt as a result of Arl Eamon's Landsmeet. Her companions were at ease, absorbing their leader's unfounded but infectious optimism. Perhaps she was floating because of the engagement, or perhaps the delicious-smelling potion was still working its way under her skin. Or maybe, just maybe, she thought there was a slim chance everyone would make it out of this alive.

Leliana especially enjoyed the Warden's lightheartedness; the bard genuinely felt the Maker's blessing cloaking each of them. She broke into an uplifting ballad, singing of happy kings and queens, joyful subjects, and beautiful courtships. Oghren, the grief over his wife still present in each of his steps, found himself smiling, even before he had finished his first flask of ale. Walking beside the sober dwarf was Wynne, perhaps the only person in the party who dreaded the Landsmeet because of what it might do to the Warden's good mood, and oddly, worried what would happen to the rest of the party should their leader falter. Shayle admired her new, flawless fire crystals, a secret gift from the Warden, who felt the golem deserved to look her best on this day, her first in the capital city. Sten inwardly scoffed at the fortifications around the public road and the lack of sentries along the path. He did, however, agree with his kadaan, that they were ready for the coming war. His heart and his sword thirsted for battle.

Zevran's mind did not linger too much on the future ahead of him, instead he was ever watchful, locating and studying turns in the path, his senses primed. He carried his daggers in his hands, unlike is other companions who walked with weapons sheathed. The Crows had their eyes set on Denerim, he knew that, and given the prevalence of nobility in the city, today would certainly harbor more assassins than usual. They would come for him, he knew, but he would be ready.

Morrigan, the sole member of the group who knew what was ahead, saw fortune smiling upon her. The Wardens were in love, she could not have dreamed of a better alignment to put her plan into place, to put the ethereal, immortal Flemeth's plan into place. Yes, things were looking up, indeed.

Sarah stopped her friends along the road and told them it was time for lunch, although they were but an hour and a half from their camp. Alistair spied the aged roadsign, and across from it, a large log. She had remembered.

They built a fire and boiled some water for tea. As they were drinking the warm and calming liquid, Sarah handed out gifts to her other companions. Shayle had already received her fire crystals at camp, so Sarah started with Oghren. She handed him a vintage ale from the Dalish ruins.

"Well, bless my beard!" shouted the dwarf. "This is the ale dwarves only dream about. Many thanks, Warden!" And the dwarf did not share with his companions, not that they minded.

Next, she gave Wynne a leather bound journal, a beautiful long quill, and three pots of blank vellum. "Thank you," the healer answered simply.

For Morrigan, Sarah had a gold-rimmed mirror. The witch was surprised. "This is much like the mirror my mother destroyed when I was a child."

"I know," replied Sarah, "I remember you telling me that story. This mirror is yours to keep." She smiled, and Morrigan found herself grinning as well.

Leliana's gift, thankfully, had survived the past week, due to careful watering and plenty of sunlight. Sarah handed her friend one pale blossom of Andraste's Grace, and the bard cooed over the gift and sniffed its scent throughout the day.

For Sten, who did not expect anything after getting back Asala, Sarah had a small portrait of a rebel queen, and Sten spent his quiet moments studying the artist's discipline and mastery.

Dog impatiently barked at his master, who simply pet him on the head and tossed an ox bone into the woods. He gleefully chased his wonderful, delicious gift.

Zevran, who also expected nothing from his captor, did not partake in the tea, continuously walked the perimeter while sharpening his blades and sorting the few poisons left in his possession.

"Zev?" she asked, and he turned around.

She handed him a pair of royal blue Dalish gloves, which were embossed with fine, white embroidery.

"I know they're not like your mother's but I hope you like them anyway."

"Ah, I thank you, they are quite nice," he smirked.

She paused. "And there's this too..." She saw surprise flash across his face briefly as she pulled out a simple silver bracelet from her pocket.

"Something else?"

"As a, sort of, thank you gift."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"For staying," she whispered. "And, for not trying to kill me or Alistair in the past week."

"Hmm."

Then, she checked that Alistair was not watching, and she clasped the bracelet around his wrist. Before she could pull her hands away, Zevran grabbed one and whispered. "I can't leave my bello tesoro unattended, can I?"

She slipped her hand away silently and turned away without saying anything. The bracelet fit his arm perfectly, and he wondered how she knew what size his wrist was.

Finally, she turned to her love. She pulled him over to the log, where many months before, she was healing from a painful injury, and he had awkwardly given her the first of many gifts. They sat down and she held his hand, quietly watching the others. Again, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a simple bracelet. It was an exact replica of the one he had given her in Haven, made from some forgotten twine on which a few simple beads rested. He dropped her hand so that he could examine the gift closely; she had even carved "My mooie ziel –S.," onto the wooden pieces. She tied it onto his wrist and it barely fit him.

He chuckled. "Well, at least it will stay in place."

Then, a goofy grin took over his face, and he childishly kissed her on the cheek before leaping up and running away. She laughed, remembering her own giddiness when he had handed her the rose.

The others took this as a signal to pack up tea and resume the march.

* * *

Arl Eamon waited in the main hall of his estate rather impatiently. He studied records of lineages and family crests. He wanted to be prepared for whatever claim Anora, Loghain, or any other noble might make for the throne. He added a few sheets to a stack resting on the corner of the table. The stack grew by the hour and consisted of letters, histories, and lists of decorous behaviors expected of the ruler of Ferelden.

"Yes, we shall be fine, as long as Loghain will listen to reason," he said to himself.

A page ran into the room. "The Wardens are here, mi'lord," he bowed.

Eamon took one last look at the diagram of noble Ferelden families' crests. He stood up straight. "Yes, send them in; we haven't much time left, and the king has a lot of reading to do."


	63. Family Blood

CHAPTER 62

Sarah and her companions sat awkwardly in Eamon's parlor. The room was not quite large enough to house all of them with Shale in tow, and the confinement was especially unnerving considering they'd spent most of their time together in the wide open spaces of camp sites and forests.

The morning's optimism was waning somewhat, but not entirely erased just yet. The leader had become a quiet, stoic, Qunari-like figure since they entered the city gates. She was thinking of Eamon and his intentions. She was thinking of the names of the noble families she knew. She was thinking of health poultice amounts, poisonous concoctions, battle strategies, darkspawn taint. And she was thinking of whether or not she should make him king, although the deliberations had not even started. That caused her to think of ways to _keep _from making him king, because the thought of leading a nation left her Templar shaking in his boots and wrought with premature guilt.

The butler entered the room. "Mi'lady, the arl will see you now."

She rose, "Of course." The decorum of the house staff had changed her disposition, and though she was wearing armor and had weapons strapped to her back, she was walking like a teryn, speaking like a noblewoman, and stepping like an aristocrat. She both hated and appreciated the change. She did not like to appear noble, especially among her friends, but she knew that her breeding, education, and history were more important weapons at this point. She found herself on a sliding scale of parts in a play. Her first character was that of a young lady of the court, prim, proper, wise, knowledgeable, and calm. Her second character was that of a Grey Warden, strong, neutral, defensive, loyal, tainted, and violent. In the next few days, she imagined that she would be falling from one end of the scale to the other, and she did not like the thought of it at all.

Alistair rose as well, but everyone else remained seated. Sarah stood in the doorway and watched her companions. Surely, it did not have to be the Wardens alone with Eamon…

The butler cleared his throat. "Your friends are welcome to rest here until you have finished."

"Of course," she said, giving an apologetic smiles to her friends, who had never heard her noble voice before or had seen her bow to the demands of anyone or anything, well, aside from her appetite.

The Wardens followed the butler to Eamon's main hall, which was littered with other servants standing idly by, each holding a binding of parchment. Eamon himself was pacing in front of a long table, which had only recently been cleared of messy papers, aside from a tall stack on the corner.

"Ah, Alistair, Sarah," he nodded to them. "I trust you have your treaties in order?"

"Yes, we've just returned from Orzammar and the dwarves are marching to Redcliffe as we speak. Have you prepared for the Landsmeet?" Even as the words came from her mouth, she was still surprised at her voice, which now seemed foreign and distant.

"Very good. And, yes, we are ready for the Landsmeet, though it will not happen for 5 more days. All that's left is to see if Loghain shows. If he does not, then we will elect the king and go to war. If he does show, then we will elect the new king and stop the Blight. As you can see, Warden, we've put the regent in quite a bind."

She wore a placating grin. "Indeed. Well played, Arl. Should we discuss strategy? What are you arguments for the Landsmeet?"

He smiled. "Ah, yes. I have been working on that since my arrival in the city." He gestured to his servants, "As you can see we have been working diligently to prove Alistair's birthright and to find any other possible claims to the throne."

Alistair cleared his throat but remained otherwise silent.

Sarah spoke. "And have you found any?"

"No, and I have reviewed the histories of all the noble families in Ferelden, and we still have the strongest claim. Anora will be forced to step down or look like a fool."

Sarah felt uneasy, she did not know Eamon had issues with Anora, she thought Eamon only wanted to usurp her father.

"What, exactly, would be the problem if we simply took the regency away from Loghain and let Anora remain on the throne?"

Eamon glared at her as if she were a 5 year old caught stealing cookies from the larder. "Ferelden deserves a ruler from the Theirin bloodline. That is the best way to unite our nation and stop the Blight."

She wanted to kick him in the shins for throwing this line at her, yet again. Why was noble blood so important? There was much more to being a good ruler than bloodline. She felt bad for dismissing her Templar, but she thought it a prudent argument. "But Alistair was never raised in the court. He was sent off to the chantry to be a Templar, nothing more, nothing less. He happened to be good with a shield and a blade, so the Wardens recruited him. He doesn't know the first thing about being king. Besides, he's a Grey Warden; he already has an obligation to them."

Eamon smiled snidely. "Perhaps the very reason he was kept out of the court and sent to the chantry was so that he would learn to be a good person, before being corrupted by the courtly life."

"Did Cailin even know he had a brother? Why would the nobles care about another heir of Maric's coming out of the woodwork? He's just another soldier to them."

Alistair, despite the insults to his honor, was hiding a smile. She was arguing with the Arl of Redcliffe. About him. He shook his head, but it went beyond the notice of either Eamon or Sarah.

Eamon paced around the servants, pretending to search through more documents. "Cailin did, in fact, know he had a brother. Did you not wonder why you and Alistair were sent to the Tower of Ishtal instead of being allowed on the field of battle?"

The mention of Ostagar stirred her heart, and she thought of Duncan, and Jory, and Daveth, that lecherous, but well-meaning scum. She took a deep breath. "Our mentor Duncan said it was an important task, and Cailin wanted it entrusted to reliable soldiers."

Eamon smirked. "So, he sent the new recruit and the bashful Templar to Ishtal instead of one of the other two dozen seasoned Wardens at his disposal?"

Sarah clamped her mouth shut. Why hadn't she seen the flaw in that logic before?

Eamon came closer. "And, I wonder, why he also sent the last surviving heir of one of the most well-respected and loved teryns in the land?"

So this was why they had been spared. Talk about sacrifice. Yes, the Wardens were ready to fight the archdemon, but were they ready to lead the nobility?

"Surely Cailin sent me with Alistair simply because I was there. The others at my j--" she stopped. She almost forgot the joining was a secret. "I mean, Alistair was--we just met the king together, that's all. I thought it was only a decision of convenience, nothing more." She wrung her hands nervously, wanting to bit her nails, but knowing she should not.

Eamon caught a glint from something on her clad finger and arched his eyebrows. "A decision of convenience that preserved the lives of King Maric's only heir and the rightful teryn of Highever? I can think of many nobles who would be jealous of that arrangement."

He eyed her closely, and she was reminded of her father's playful look when he had caught her using circular logic.

Just then, a page ran into the chamber.

"Mi'lord! Teryn Loghain has just arrived in the city, and he requests your presence in the palace district."

"Is that so?" Eamon said evenly. "Wardens? Will you join me?"

Sarah took a step back and stood in line with Alistair. "We'll be bringing a few of our companions, if that's all right with you. In case things don't go very smoothly."

Eamon nodded. "Very well, but we depart within the hour."

"Of course."

Eamon left the room, and Alistair exhaled dramatically. "So, my half-brother was trying to fix me up with the teryn's daughter? Awfully bold of him, don't you think?"

She was not wholly amused. "He also wanted you to take his place on the throne. _That_ was bold. I'm not sure we can get out of this one, Ser Templar. Eamon's very determined."

"Do you think he'll let us kill Loghain today?"

She sighed. "Probably not. But while we're standing there, we can think of the best pieces to use for darkspawn bait, provided the creatures would even eat something so foul."

They put their arms around each other and walked to the door. He kissed her head, and they separated, walking through the hall as comrades in arms instead of lovers. She was thinking of the best way to sneak to his room later that night.

She also wondered if Eamon had seen her ring, and what he would say about it later if he had.


	64. The Teryns of Ferelden

_AN: Some important, but rather unromantic chapters for a bit. We've got to build up to the fun stuff. I still hope you enjoy. I think this is pretty dramatic, even if there's not much snogging going on._

CHAPTER 63

Eamon was taking some of his soldiers, so he allowed Sarah only two additional companions. She and Alistair went back to the parlor. To her surprise, he shut the door behind them and hugged her.

"You were brilliant in there," he said.

She smiled. "What can I say? I do good work." (Her favorite line to use when he was enamored).

Wynne cleared her throat.

Sarah slid out of Alistair's arms. "Right. Loghain's already here and we're going to meet him in the palace district."

Sten grumbled. "The regent who left your Wardens on the field of battle?"

Sarah nodded.

The Qunari rose, "Good, I am ready to fight that coward."

_Diplomacy_, she repeated to herself.

Sarah waved her hand. "No, Sten, Eamon wants to try diplomacy first. We're going to need all the soldiers we can get, so we shouldn't waste them on a civil war."

Sarah looked at Wynne. "Will you come with us? You're the most even-tempered among us, and I have a feeling I'll need your counsel before the day is over."

Wynne stood. "Of course. But I'll warn you, I have my arcane bolts ready should the situation call for it."

Sarah smiled. "I was counting on that, too, actually." She paused, surveying her other friends. "And--"

"Zevran," Alistair interjected.

"Zev?"

The Templar cleared his throat. "He'll see an ambush coming before the rest of us. He's also the least likely to attack in anger." He shrugged. "Besides, it would be really awesome to see the look on Loghain's face when he realizes his hired assassin has sided with the Wardens."

Sarah narrowed her eyes and looked at Alistair. "Are you serious?" She grinned, "Ser Templar, that is a brilliant plan."

***

Sarah was ready to face Loghain, she thought. She kept her father's instructions close to her heart, for he had always instructed her on matters concerning diplomacy. She was also growing to trust Eamon more, and she was endlessly grateful that she wasn't the person in charge today, though she hardly expected to keep silent. Her blood simmered when she thought of Loghain, but delayed vengeance would taste sweeter in the long run. First, they would belittle him at the Landsmeet, then she and Alistair would take him out back and kill him, all the while chanting Duncan's name and proclaiming victory for the Grey Wardens.

But Sarah was not ready for this.

Loghain sauntered into the large main hall, flanked on one side by his lieutenant, Ser Cauthrien, and on the other side by Rendon Howe. Sarah felt her heart race, she wanted to reach for her blades, to storm the man who had destroyed her life. She wanted to slice his skin away from his muscles and listen to him scream in pain in horror. She was glad no one could read her thoughts; she felt as lethal as the archdemon itself. Faces of her family, her house, Duncan, her brethren who fell at Ostagar. She could not keep still, her hands were twitching to reach for her swords. Wynne placed a calming hand on her shoulder, and Sarah took a deep breath. _Diplomacy, pup_, she repeated, _diplomacy_, letting her father's words set in her mind.

Before she could move, Eamon took a step forward and greeted the regent. The Arl was calm and collected, standing up straight, regal, perhaps even friendly.

Then, the treacherous bastard returned the Arl's courtesy with snide remarks and large hand gestures.

Eamon repeated that irksome phrase: "…Ferelden deserves a ruler from the Theirin bloodline."

Loghain took another step forward, as did his companions. "Ferelden has a strong leader: its queen. And I lead her armies."

Where was this strong leader, then? She had been all but absent from any of the proceedings. Before Eamon could answer, Sarah said, "If Anora rules, let her speak for herself."

Eamon nodded in agreement.

Loghain turned from Eamon and approached her, he was twice her width, and his armor made him look even larger. She heard Alistair stir behind her, but Wynne quickly stopped him.

Loghain glowered down at her, but she did not flinch. She stared right back. Zevran smirked beside her, appreciating her ability to glare indefinitely.

His ugly, harsh, hot breath showered her forehead as he spoke. "And who is this, Eamon? Some new stray you picked up on the road? And here I thought it was only royal bastards you played around with."

Then, Sarah's temperamental, joking Templar actually acknowledged his birthright. "Well, you're admitting the royal part. That's a start."

She wanted to laugh and hug him at his admission. She glanced at him, and was nearly floored by his expression. It was one she'd never seen before. He did look royal, he looked noble, he looked at her.

_Be proud_ _of your family, pup. _"And I am Sarah Cousland, teryn of Highever."

Then, the tiny, dismissive, self-righteous Howe took a step forward, grinning snidely. Immediately, Zevran was right next to her, eying the horse-nosed murderer.

_Diplomacy, diplomacy, diplomacy._

Her limbs screamed for movement, her body ached to lurch out at her villain, the man who had ruined her life, had erased her life, the man who had killed everyone she ever knew and loved.

Then, almost silently, Zev whispered, "I won't let him touch you. We will get your revenge."

It was Howe's turn to glower. "The Couslands are dead. The teryn of Highever belongs to the Howes, and rightfully so."

She squeezed her fists so hard that she thought her stubby fingernails would rip through the drake scales. Again, she spied Alistair. He watched both of the men carefully, his jaw set, his eyes stern, as if he were in complete control of this chamber, as if he belonged atop the steps. She was floored by his expression, and felt oddly comforted by his control. It was as if they had traded places. He was strong, stoic, and she the heated warrior. She knew he would not stop her if she killed Howe then and there. But she did not. _The Blight, the Blight was important now_.

"When does the Landsmeet begin?" she asked evenly.

Cauthrien stepped forward, glaring at Sarah. "Don't interrupt, churl. Your betters are talking!"

And Loghain called her off. "Enough, Cauthrien, this is not the time or place."

Well, at least Sarah was more composed than this harlot.

Loghain addressed Eamon. "I had hoped to talk you down from this rash course, Eamon. Our people are frightened. Our king is dead." He let the words sit in the air. Sarah almost imagined she sensed regret. "Our land is under siege. We must be united now, if we are to endure this crisis. Your own sister, Queen Rowan fought tirelessly to see Ferelden restored. Would you see her work destroyed? You divide our nations and weaken our efforts against the Blight with your selfish ambitions to the throne!"

Sarah's mouth was agape. Was this ugly, greasy-haired despot accusing the calm and collected Arl of Redcliff of selfish intent? Eamon who was not wearing armor or even armed with so much as a dagger did not even flinch.

Sarah wanted to shout, to tear this man apart with her bare hands. _Think, pup. _Deep breath."If you truly want to save this land, stand with us. We have already gathered allies from across the nation; together we can save our homes."

Loghian threw up a hand and Sarah thought he was going to strike her. Alistair took one more step forward.

Instead, Loghain waved dismissively. "I should put my faith in untrained foreign hands? Do you think I'm blind? Cailin depended on the Grey Wardens prowess against the darkspawn, and look how well that ended. Let us speak of reality, rather than tall tells. Stories will not save us."

Eamon actually looked sad. Sarah regretted thinking that Eamon was wrapped up in tradition, assuming he wanted to restore order for order's sake. No, the Arl of Redcliffe, like her, was trying to save his country.

Eamon sighed. "I cannot forgive what you've done, Loghain. Perhaps the Maker can, but not I. Our people deserve a king of the Theirin bloodline. Alistair will be the one to lead us to victory in this Blight."

Her love did not blanch, he looked head on. Slowly, he turned his head. "Oh, is that all I have to do? No pressure..."

She and Zevran chortled simultaneously. Wynne tsk'ed them both.

Loghain paced before them. "The emperor of Orlais also thought I could not bring him down." He approached Eamon, and Sarah flanked them. She had a dagger hidden in her skirt. She spied a small crevasse in Loghain's armor. "Expect no more mercy than I showed him. There is nothing I would not do for my homeland."

With that, Loghain turned around, his large armor clamoring around him. Cauthrien and Howe mimicked him and they strolled out of the room.

Sarah exhaled, and realized her arms were shaking. Zevran stood right next to her, ready to catch her should she fall. He was not used to seeing his captor this unnerved.

The noble Arl relaxed his shoulders and faced the Wardens. "Well, that was...bracing. I didn't expect Loghain to show himself quite so soon."

Sarah looked back at Alistair, and his soft expression had returned. She looked at Eamon. "What do we do now?"

He led them to a long table. "Calling the Landsmeet is only the start. Now we must ensure that every noble here sees Loghain's duplicity. We have no small task ahead of us."

"I am starting to think that small tasks do not exist in Ferelden," mused Zevran.

"Very well," Sarah said, nodding to the arl.

Zevran led them out of the palace. Sarah and Alistair each ungloved one hand, clasped them together and followed the elf and the mage.

She stood on her tiptoes and whispered. "That kingly look you had back there? Hot."

"What look?"

She paused in the chamber and eyed him closely.

He shrugged. "I was trying to do my best impersonation of you. How you didn't leap out and kill that Howe right then and there, I'll never know."

She wanted to kiss him and run away with him to uncharted, unmapped wildernesses, and escape everything. But, no, instead of doing what she wanted to do, she had to follow her friends back to Eamon's estate, and she would have to decide whether she really could tell her Templar that he would have to be king. She took some small comfort that she had inspired him to look like he belonged at the head Ferelden. Even in her anger, rage, and conviction, she felt devotion and love. Alistair was her world, and she, his. That is how, Sarah Cousland, despite the monumental tasks before her, felt happy and in control.

"I love you so much," he said breathily, seeming to answer her thoughts. "You are the most perfect woman in the world. I'd be nothing without you."

She leaned into his shoulder. "You have more than returned the favor, my love. Duncan would be so proud of you, I know I am." She slipped her forefinger through a slit in his armor and he growled quietly.

"Maker help me, impending Blight and a kingship on the line, and all I can think about is you."

She grinned. "What can I say? I do good work."


	65. Lord and Lady

**Day 1, Part 1 **

After the meeting with Loghain, the house staff showed Sarah and her companions to their rooms, which were as extravagant as the rooms in Redcliffe, if not more so. After such a long time on the road, the new provisions took a little getting used to.

Sarah's first task was to find Alistair's room and map out a secret way of meeting him that night. Discretion was still important, given the political importance placed on Alistair's reputation, and Sarah did not want Eamon interfering with or questioning their engagement. Nor could she imagine being able to sleep alone, and she suspected Alistair couldn't either.

She found him tossing his dirty laundry in a pile, smelling each piece to determine its level of uncleanliness.

She sat on the bed, dangling her legs over the edge, and laughed at him. "Didn't you get any of your clothes washed in Orzammar?"

He sniffed. "That was two weeks ago. I wear a lot of clothes."

"Really? Whenever I'm with you, you hardly seem to wear anything at all."

She didn't expect a response from him, since they had to leave the estate soon to meet nobles in the market district, but, alas, Alistair could not resist. He tossed a shirt behind him and sauntered up to the bed. He straddled her dangling legs and kissed her deeply, moving his tongue across her freshly cleaned teeth, losing his fingers in her tangled hair. He moved to her neckline, kissing and running his tongue across her skin.

She hummed. "Hmmmm, yes, you are wearing too many clothes right now. Let's start with this breastplate, shall we?"

He nibbled on her earlobe and whispered, "You first."

She broke the kiss and leaned back on her hands. She batted her eyelashes playfully. "Ser, I am engaged, and the target of multiple assassination attempts. I think that I shall leave my armor on for the time being."

He laughed, despite her flippant reminder that near-death experiences seemed to follow them everywhere. "I love you. Have I told you that? Well, it won't hurt you to hear it again."

She smiled shyly. "You can say it as much as you like. I'm tough, I can take it. I've killed darkspawn, you know."

He raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? What a thrillingly invigorating image." He leaned down and she lowered herself onto the bed. They were just about to lock lips again when there was a knock at the door.

"Mi'lord?"

Sarah jumped off the bed and raised her eyebrows. "Oh, it's mi'lord, now is it? I'm not sure my affection is honorable enough for someone who is so quickly climbing the ranks of Ferelden nobility." She drew out some blueprints and began murmuring about battlements and fortifications in a rather loud voice.

Alistair glared at her as he opened the door.

"It's just Alistair. I'm not a noble," he said gently to the page. "What did you need?"

Despite Alistair's attempt at friendliness, the page bowed. "Many apologies, Ser."

Alistair groaned inwardly, and Sarah stifled a giggle.

"No need to apologize."

The page bowed again. "The Arl says that you are to see him in his chambers when Lady Cousland leaves for the Market district."

"But--I was planning on going with her--"

The page bowed again. "Yes, but the Arl says she should go with her other companions because you are sorely needed here."

"Needed here? For what?"

"My master did not say."

Alistair groaned loudly. Sarah joined him in the doorway. She nodded to the servant. "Very well, tell Eamon Alistair will join him shortly and that I will be leaving the estate within the hour."

He bowed. "Yes, mi'lady. Thank you mi'lady." He pulled the door closed behind him.

Alistair watched her closely. He shook his head. "No, I'm not staying here, not if you're leaving. I go where you go, remember?" He took her left hand and traced the silver band with his thumb.

With her other hand, she brushed his cheek. "I know, but I'm letting you off the hook, just this once." She sighed. "Besides we have to keep good relations with Eamon at least until the Landsmeet, if you want to keep from being king, still."

He rubbed the back of his head. "I suppose..."

"Do you still not want to be king?" she asked slowly.

He dropped his hand and looked at the floor. "No, I've never wanted it. You know that."

She took his hand. "I'm just making sure. I'll do what I can. Meanwhile, we can't afford to anger Eamon. He seems to know about our engagement--"

"What? How? Did you tell him?"

She shook her head. "No, my love, but I'm wearing a ring...as are you."

"Oh, right."

"I'm guessing Eamon doesn't know about the taint--"

"No, or he would have said something, I'm sure."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and looked up at him. "You stay here, placate the Arl while I run around stealing stuff from merchants and ingratiating help from the nobles. Actually, I'll be having lots more fun. You, I suspect, will be reading about bloodlines and family trees."

"Who are you taking with you?" he whispered.

She shrugged and rested her head on his chest. "Wynne, I suppose, she's well-respected. And Sten because he offers international support. What noble wouldn't want to side with a Grey Warden who has the Qunari as an ally?"

"But it's just one Qunari, not the entire berasaad."

"True, but they don't know that."

"I see," he said, trailing his fingers through her hair.

"And--"

"Zevran."

She took a step back. "Zev? Again? You two finally make up?"

He looked at the floor again before meeting her gaze. "Sort of."

"What does 'sort of' mean, exactly?"

He regretted saying anything in the first place. He slid out of her arms and went to the other side of the room. "I asked him to protect you should anything happen to me." Surely, she was going to me mad at him for thinking she needed constant protection.

She approached him slowly. "So, you made amends with your second worst enemy, Loghain being the first, so that you knew I was taken care of?"

"I-I-I I'm sorry. You don't n-n-need taking care of--"

She stopped his stammering with a kiss. "Say it again," she whispered.

"I love you."

"I love you, too." She kissed him briefly before leaving his room to round up her party.


	66. Duty

**Chapter 65**

**Day 1, Part 2**

Alistair begrudgingly removed his armor and found some semi-presentable clothing to throw on. He was entirely unhappy with this arrangement, was nervous thinking about what Eamon wanted from him, and desperately worried about his fellow Warden. He knew nothing would happen, well he hoped nothing would happen. It was just Denerim, right? Surely she would not go through the back alleys today.

He swiped his hand across his forehead. No, she would do whatever she thought best, and often that meant flying into the face of danger, however unintentional. He found Eamon's chambers and ambled into the study.

"I was told you wanted to see me."

"Ah, yes, Alistair. Have a seat at the table there. We have much to go over before the Landsmeet. As your fellow Warden pointed out, you have a lot to learn about courtly life prior to taking the throne."

"Um, right." He sat at the table and ran his thumb through a tall stack of papers sitting before him. "Which ones do I need to look at, then?"

Eamon raised his eyebrows. "All of them."

"All of them? Maker, why do I feel like I'm back in the abbey…Can't you just advise me or something?"

"Read."

Alistair sighed. She was right; she would be having all the fun today. He sifted through ramblings on the history of Ferelden politics, the advent of teryns, the past and present expectations of banns. He skipped over the chantry's views on the roles of magic in the government, which made him think of peeling potatoes in the larder at age 12.

He groaned. "Family histories? Of all the families in the nobility? Eamon, surely you don't expect me to know about all of this!"

"Ah, come now Alistair. Where's that Templar discipline I've heard so much about? I think you'll find the first group interesting anyhow."

Alistair looked down, spying the drawing of a familiar crest with a teardrop-shaped white stone, criss-crossed by two forest green roped staves. It was the Cousland family crest. Alistair glanced at his hand and quickly shoved it under the table.

Eamon chuckled lightly. "There is no need to hide your hand; I have already seen your ring." Eamon paced before him and Alistair watched him closely. The arl had some point to all of this, but Alistair could not quite make it out.

Eamon stopped and tapped his fingers on the corner of the table. "Tell me, Alistair, since you are the senior Grey Warden in Ferelden, you know of the many side effects of your little…initiation rituals, right?" Eamon began pacing again.

Instantly, Alistair knew exactly what Eamon was playing at. He pushed back his chair and maneuvered to the front of the table to face the Arl. Alistair was frightened, scared, and not sure at all how to proced with this conversation, but he was not going to back down.

Eamon, on the other hand, was in total control. "Tell me, my boy, what is the likelihood of two Grey Wardens producing an heir?"

Alistair glanced around the room quickly, not sure where he should be looking, searching his mind for a clever answer that would not reveal itself.

Eamon cleared his throat. "I've never heard of a single Grey Warden ever having a child, let alone two of them together. Tell me, Alistair, have I been misinformed?"

"I-I-I am not really an expert on--"

Eamon stopped in front of Alistair and glared at him. He pounded his fist into the table. "Did I not tell you at Redcliffe to rethink your priorities? You've had more than enough time to end this little 'romance' with her, yet, you arrive in my palace and with her family's crest on your finger." The arl paused, checking Alistair's expression.

The emotional Templar's face was red.

Eamon continued. "Have you thought of nothing but yourself these past months? Gallivanting around with another Grey Warden, putting your kingdom at risk? How can you be so selfish?"

"S-s-selfish?"

"Both your father and your brother wished to keep you out of the court, for your sake, not for theirs, and when your country calls upon you to lead it, you think of nothing more than your…than your carnal desires and whimsical fantasies."

Alistair jumped. "My feelings for her are not 'whimsical.' I love her."

Eamon scoffed. "Well, true as that may be, kings do not marry for love. You have an obligation to lead this nation and produce an heir. You have to end it. Tonight."

Alistair, for all his bolster at camp, felt alone and empty. He saw his world spinning out of control. Were she here, she would know exactly what to say to Eamon, be it to pacify the arl, or to argue with him outright. Alistair could think of nothing. His hands trembled and he wished for his sword, if only to grip something in his hands to steady them.

Eamon threw up his hands. "You've read enough for today. Get to your room and prepare for this evening."

"What!? Go to my room? I am not some child, Eamon!"

"Well, you're certainly acting like one." Eamon turned on his heels and left the room.

Alistair slouched to the floor leaning up against the table leg. He felt his stomach sink, as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He loved her, no question, but Eamon was right. Alistair had a duty, did he not? To his country, to his father, to his brother? To her?

For the first time since meeting Duncan and leaving the chantry, Alistair Theirin prayed. For what, he was not quite sure.

* * *

_AN: *prepares for the onslaught of unhappy reviews*_


	67. Taliesen

**CHAPTER 66**

**DAY 1 PART 3**

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Arl Wulff," Sarah said slowly. "Had Loghain not turned on us at Ostagar, I'd wager that your home would have been saved."

He grunted. "Well, there's not much we can do about it now, is there?" He motioned for the waitress, clearly putting an end to the conversation. Sarah shrugged and led her friends back into the market district.

She wiped her brow. "I'm afraid this little outing hasn't gone as well as I'd hoped. Of course, not everyone has arrived yet, so we still have some time."

Wynne, ever the first to spout wisdom, said, "That is true. But many of those who are here at least realize we've a Blight to stop. And even those who haven't dedicated you their support outright were at least willing to acknowledge that perhaps Loghain hadn't acted in the best interest of the country."

"Yes, there is that," Sarah conceded. She gave a little hop. "Well, there's one more thing left to do before heading back. I have one last Blackstone Irregular deserter I have to see." She stepped lightly, with Sten, Zevran, and Wynne trailing behind her. "Yes, this way, I think. Through this back alley." She led them, weaving through makeshift shacks and stacks of crates to arrive at a tiny, ill-kept hovel.

She glanced back. "None of these have gone very well, I'm afraid, so have your weapons drawn, just in case."

"Time for some more blood-letting, I see!" exclaimed Zev.

Wynne groaned, and Sten simply nodded.

Sarah knocked on the door. She raised the pitch of her voice slightly. "Hello? Is anyone home? I'm lost and alone. Can anyone help me?"

Zev chuckled, amused by her feigned distress. "Perfect delivery, my dear."

The door swung open, and a large unkempt, but heavily-armored man stood before them. "Oh, you hardly look alone." He shouted into the hovel. "Daven! Get out here, we have visitors. Bring your sword!"

Zevran whispered, "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Will they ever learn?"

Resuming her normal voice Sarah explained, "There's no need for weapons gentleman, I'm simply here to collect supplies for the Blackstone Irregulars." She paused. "And bring you in for desertion, of course."

She was barely able to flash him a smile before he swung his Oathkeeper around his head. She leaped out of the way and Sten easily pummeled the desserter to the ground. Sarah kicked him.

Zevran spotted Daven sneaking up from the rear. The elf stunned him then slit his throat. Within seconds, two more men were dead and the rogues were rifling through the hovel for any salvageable goods and the Blackstone supplies.

Sarah suppressed any regret she might have, telling herself that gaining the aid of the mercenary group was more valuable than letting these men live. With war looming, she needed every soldier possible. Furthermore, this deserter struck her first; she only fought back in self defense.

She led her group out of the hovel and to the stairs leading up to the back street's exit. She spotted some movement in the shadows and froze. Zevran had already stopped, his keen eyes observing the movement before she did.

A lone man strolled from the shadows atop the steps, where both the rogues could sense many others lurked. Instantly, Zevran felt adrenaline pumping through his limbs.

The leather-armored man sauntered forward. "And here is the mighty Grey Warden at long last. The Crows send their greetings once again."

Sarah glanced at Zevran, who had not even drawn his weapons as the others had. Was he not supposed to warn her of ambushes? Perhaps he had meant to poison them, after all.

Zevran inched closer to his captor and watched the man carefully. "So they send you Talisen. Or did you volunteer for the job?"

Her heart was pounding. Did Zevran know of this or not? She tried counting the other Crows in the shadows, but she could not make them out since they had stopped moving.

The man gestured easily. "I volunteered, of course. When I'd heard that the 'Great Zevran' had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself."

Zevran crossed his arms, taking one more step towards her. "Well, here I am. In the flesh."

"You can return with me, Zevran. I know why you did this, and I don't blame you. It's not too late. Come back, and we'll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake."

She was not quite sure how to react. It didn't _appear_ that Zev knew of this, but it could be another trick. "Of course, I'd have to be dead first," she said, going with the most obvious conclusion.

She glanced from Talisen to Zevran, who locked eyes with her. "And I am not about to let that happen." He turned to Talisen. "I'm sorry, my friend, but the answer is 'no.' I'm not coming back. And you should have stayed in Antiva."

Suddenly, assassins came at them from all sides: down the steps, from behind abandoned crates, from around cluttered corners. Instantly, she and Zev stood back to back, spinning around, slicing as each Crow came closer. He shouted commands to her, for he could predict their every movement, but because he had been fighting with her and Alistair for so long, he had developed new skills the Crows did not know of. Across the clearing, Sten was stabbed continously through and around his armor. The Qunari never so much as grunted or groaned in pain as he swung his two-handed sword around the swarming assassins. Wynne, through arcane bolts and disorientation spells repeatedly healed the giant. The pairs made their ways to each other, slaughtering Antivans as they moved.

Finally, it was over. Everyone, including Wynne was covered in blood.

Sarah looked around, her back still against Zevran's. "Are there anymore?"

"No, that is all," he said, stepping away.

She spun around quickly to watch him, his face was contorted, as if he were trying to look angry, sad, and relieved all at once. "Talisen? Was he your…your friend?"

"We do not have friends in the Crows."

She was not thinking very clearly, and she pulled Zevran into a tight hug. "I'm so sorry, Zev. I'm sorry that he had to die."

Zevran pulled away, detesting the pity she showered upon him. "Well, there it is. Talisen is dead. And I am free of the Crows." He looked away, avoiding her penetrating stare. "They will assume I am dead with Talisen. So long as I do not make my presence known to them. They will not seek me out." He looked back at her.

"That's a good thing, right?"

He dropped his shoulders and threw her a smile. "A very good thing. It is, in fact, what I'd hoped for ever since you decided not to kill me." Again, he looked away. "I suppose it would be possible for me to leave now, if I wished. I could go far away, somewhere where the Crows would never find me." Another smile, "I think, also, I could stay here. I made an oath to help you, after all--"

"And an oath to Alistair, as well, or so I've been told."

He smiled. "Indeed. Saving the world—and protecting a Grey Warden—seem like worthy tasks to see through to the end, yes?"

She pouted, though she did not mean to. "You'd better not leave! I would be sorely put out. Who else would help me practice dying a time or two?"

His eyes widened. "Then stay I shall. I am with you until the end…provided you do not tire of me first. Or I die. Or you die. But there you go."

They left the backstreet, some of Zevran's relief flooding the rest of the party. Sten was thankful to get some battle practice in, for he had been idle for the past month, save a pack of wolves or two. Wynne felt rather weary, but she did not say anything. It had been a long walk to Denerim, and this jaunt into town was more taxing than she had expected.

They made it back to Eamon's estate without further incident. However, as Sarah walked through the gate she spied Alistair sitting on a bench near the garden. He was looking at the ground and shaking his leg furiously.

"Alistair? What's wrong? Is someone hurt? What's going on?"

He looked up, his eyes were red, as if he had been crying. "We need to talk."

* * *

_AN: For those of you staying up, anxiously awaiting the next installment, I'm working on the next chapter already and will post it in an hour or two. Ah, dear readers, I love your devotion!_


	68. The Sacrifice

**CHAPTER 67**

**DAY 1 PART 4**

Eamon could not have hoped for a better result. The entire castle could hear her shouting, though she and Alistair were in the parlor with the door shut. Their friends sat outside the room, aghast and glancing at each other silently. In his heart, Eamon did feel bad. He knew the pain of marrying someone others did not approve of. After all, he and Isolde were engaged shortly after the war with Orleis was over. Alistair did not have such luxury, however. The stakes for the kingship were much higher and the civil war made affairs of the state very unwieldy. He did not wish Alistair, or the Cousland, unhappiness any more than he wished it on himself, but they were too young to see the folly in their actions.

"…You're right! You are a bastard! After everything we've been through, after all that I have done for you! I thought you loved me! Am I not worth fighting for? Don't you stand up for anything? How Duncan let you become a Grey Warden, I'll never know! You have the backbone of a jellyfish! Fine! Go off and be king, marry your little dainty princesses, have tons of babies! I hope you'll be bloody happy!"

"I don't have a choice. Please try to understand."

"Understand? Why did you ask me to marry you if you weren't going to stand by me? No, I don't! I don't understand, Alistair!"

"Things are more dire than I realized…"

"Oh! Excuse me for not realizing that things were dire! I'm just a barren Grey Warden trying to save ALL OF BLOODY THEDAS FROM A BLIGHT!"

"You know what I mean."

"Do I? Do I really? No, Alistair, I don't know you at all! Here, take your sodding ring back! What did you spend on it anyway? A whole 2 coppers? I should have known you'd leave me! No! Don't touch me, don't come near me! I don't want to see you until the archdemon shows up! After that, I'll be out of your life forever! Since, that is apparently what you want!"

She stormed out of the parlor, streams of tears falling down her face. She blew past her friends and found her room, slamming the door shut behind her. Then, she opened it again, throwing articles of clothing into the hallway. Then her bracelet, then some hair ribbons. Last, she furiously chucked out a dark and withered rose that landed silently on the pile in front of her door.

Alistair stumbled out of the parlor, his chest heaving. He looked at his feet and dragged them down the hallway, pausing to pick up the mess she had left there. He braced the wall and he leaned on it, slowly making it through the other hallways and to his own room.

Leliana jumped up from her chair.

Zevran grabbed her arm. "Not now, Leliana. She will need some time." The bard sat down. Zevran took out his daggers. "But I'm going to kill that idiot Templar, whether you let me to or not."

She wiped tears from her face. "I will not stop you, Zev."

He nodded. "Very well. We'll give him a few days to lure him into a false sense of security."

* * *

Draped in a dark cloak and wearing a maid's cap she had found in the laundry, Sarah hugged the walls of the servants quarters in Eamon's estate.

"Polly!" someone addressed her. "Set out the chamber pots, it's nearly midnight!"

"Yes, mam," Sarah mumbled in her best elven accent.

She slipped around the corners, trying to recall exactly which stairwell led to each wing of the estate. She counted the doorways and looked at the ceiling. Finally, she came to the entryway she thought was correct. Sure enough, as she pried the door at the top of the stairs open, she realized she had calculated correctly. Before leaving the doorway, she stared through the dimly lit hallway and listened closely for any movement. She heard and saw nothing, so she crept along the walls, avoiding the torchlight just in case. She came to another door, opened it quickly but quietly and stepped in. She shut it and locked it behind her.

Before she could remove her cloak, she felt sneaking hands creeping around her waist and along her neckline.

"I could never, ever bring myself to see you cry like that," a voice rasped. "I would never hurt you."

She maneuvered around the roaming arms to untie her cloak and take off the confining hat.

"I think they bought it," she whispered. "Although, I believe Zevran wants to kill you."

The warm, calloused hands wrapped around her cheeks. "How did you cry like that?"

"I pretended it was real."

"It almost was."

"Don't say that, Alistair." She slid away from him. "Would you really? Could you have really done that to me? To us?"

He shook his head and ran his hand down his face. He was quiet.

"Alistair?"

He approached her quickly, and hugged her tightly. "No, my love, I could not. I thought that I would have to, but, now I know that…that--"

"Eamon's an ignoble jerk and only cares for himself?"

He nodded, bristling her cheek with his faint stubble. "And that I would die without you." He found her hand and slipped the ring back onto her finger. "I am with you until the end. Truly."

He started kissing her neck just below her earlobe. She pushed him away. "No. We can't. They'll hear us."

"But I-I just need to feel close to you."

She slipped out his grasp. "No more kissing. We'll go to sleep. Consider it a punishment, for actually considering breaking up with me." She scoffed playfully, "As if I wouldn't be able to come up with a plan." She batted her eyelashes. "Ser Templar, I thought you knew me better than that."

He turned around, unable to look at her. "If you don't want me to kiss you, you better stop that right now. I'm a man with little self control."

She crept closer to him, and he took her in his arms once again. "I am sorry for doubting us. Eamon just, he talked about duty, and…"

She nodded. "I know exactly what he did. He used your sense of honor to manipulate you to do what he wanted." She waved her hands through the air. "Androste's blood! I bet he'll want you to marry Anora or something."

"Never."

"I hope you mean that."

"I do."

"I hope you mean that too," she whispered in his ear.

"Maker help me woman, you're just gong to have to be quiet." He lifted her off the floor and set her on the bed. "Where were we this afternoon? Oh right, wearing too many clothes…"

She wanted to, she really wanted to, but part of her was repeating his admission. _It almost was_. _It almost was._ "So…you only want me for my body, but once I leave this room, who knows what you'll do with my heart."

He stopped kissing her arms and laid down beside her. "Can I at least hold you before we go to sleep. You feel far away."

"So do you."

He sighed. "I can't stand up to him if you're not there. I don't know what to say."

She took his hand. "I know, it's not entirely you're fault. I just can't tonight, Alistair. I want to spend time with you, as much as I can. But I can't do that tonight."

She found her way under the covers and faced away from him. "Ser Templar, I'm cold."

He slowly wrapped his arms around her. "I'm so very sorry," he whispered. "I won't let you go this time. I promise." He kissed the back of her head. "What's the plan now?"

She nestled under the covers. "Tomorrow, I pretend to hate you, and you spend your day with Eamon. I'm talking to more nobles. We let him think it's over between us until the Landsmeet, at which point I'll have gained enough support to put Anora on the throne, and Eamon will have to agree or look the fool. That is, if you still want Anora on the throne."

For once, Alistair thought before he spoke. "We'll have to see what she plans to do about her father first. And how she plans to end the civil war. If I have to, I will be king. I'll leave it up to you. But, I will not marry anyone but you. That's non-negotiable."

"Finally, Ser Templar, you're starting to think like a leader."

"I've learned from the best…That's you, of course."

She smiled. She had already forgiven him as soon as she realized he had been crying. However, she was not going to tell him until the morning. Perhaps, she was a little more manipulative than she needed to be, but she could use the practice for the coming days ahead. One thing was certain, Arl Eamon had it coming.

She was about to fall asleep, when he reached around her and placed the rose in her hand. She held it as tightly as she dared, fearing the petals would crumble.

"Whatever you do, don't leave me alone with the elf. He could kill me if he wanted to."

She smiled. "Fine, I'll protect you from my protector. I guess that means I'll have to keep a close eye on him."

Alistair groaned. "While I'm stuck with Eamon you'll be with Zevran?"

"Consider it another part of your punishment."

"Very well." He paused. "I love you, you know."

"I do."


	69. The Queen's Request

**CHAPTER 68**

**DAY 2, PART 1**

Alistair knew Eamon was doing this on purpose, and it made the Templar even angrier. At least this rage would help him play his part, because when Sarah walked into the study, appearing distraught and weary, he had to stifle a smile and resist the temptation to embrace her. Still, Eamon's intent was clear: to torture the Grey Wardens with his sly arrangements and pitiful requests for aid. Only, Alistair had to sit behind the table studying while Eamon sent her all over Denerim politicizing and gaining support.

That morning, just before dawn, she quietly left his room, telling him that he had to watch himself around Eamon today. While she was with him, Alistair felt he was up to the task, but when Eamon came to his room just an hour later, Alistair was nervous once again.

"It's time to get up, Alistair. You have lots more to learn."

"Yes, I know," was the best Alistair could do. He was not sure if he should be stoic or sad, acquiescent or rebellious. He aimed for somewhere in the middle. He did feel lost, in every way imaginable, but that was to be expected. He and Sarah had spent every single day together for the past four months. Now, if it weren't for her secret visits to his bedchamber, he would not see her at all. He could not help wondering if all this was worth it, if they should not be spending their last days before war together instead of pretending to be apart.

As for Sarah, she forced herself onto her tasks for the day, trying to focus on them and see them through to the best possible outcomes. She felt a little foolish, arranging such a dramatic and manipulative plan to thwart Eamon's intentions, and she wondered if perhaps her energies could better serve Ferelden were she not concerned with her own happiness. But the selfish part of her always spoke up, reassuring her that she had already done many, many things for her homeland, and that she deserved some consolation of her own. She left the castle early, not wanting idleness to allow her an opportunity to show her true feelings. She spoke to her companions carefully, and all of them silently noted that Alistair had never returned to the parlor.

Sarah, especially, wanted to tell them that it was all a ruse, but she doubted their abilities to play along and did not want to make things more complicated by involving others in a multi-layered deception.

"I'm going back into town--"

Zevran jumped up. "And I am going with you."

"Okay," Sarah answered slowly, not sure why Zev was so quick to promise himself to today's missions. "As I said, I'm going back into town for a few more meetings. I should return before lunch, and I imagine Eamon will have something else for us to do."

"And what of Alistair?" asked Morrigan. Yesterday's breakup was quickly becoming a concern for the witch.

Sarah forced her face to turn red and even flashed Morrigan an angry glare. "Alistair is with Eamon."

"So, he's not going with you then?"

Leliana stared at the witch, shocked by her callous questions.

Sarah buried her face in her hands, pretending to cover tears when she was actually covering a smile. "No, he is not."

Morrigan shifted. "Would it not be prudent for him to go with you? 'Tis support for his kingship you are gathering, 'tis it not?"

"Morrigan, shut up!" Zevran snapped. "You know very well why he isn't here, and you aren't helping anyone with your spiteful remarks."

Sarah's hands still covered her face, and she surprised herself by actually letting out a quiet sob. Zevran and Leliana quickly approached her, Zev pulling her into a tight hug and Leliana running her fingers through Sarah's hair. She did not expect consolation from them, and now Sarah was at a bit of a loss how to handle the grief her friends saw but that did not exist.

"He said he loved me…" she mumbled. "How could he do this to me?"

Zevran's warm breath arched along her neck. "He is a fool. I don't know how he could do this to you, bello tesoro."

Sarah's stomach clenched. There was that phrase again, and Zevran's unabashed concern stirred something in her, though she was not sure what. She backed away from him and from Leliana.

"This is no time for tears, my friends. We have much to do. I am sorry for my weaknesses."

Leliana shook her head. "No, it is not you who is weak."

Sten grumbled something that sounded like, "...'s why women shouldn't be fighters…"

Immediately Sarah was angry, for it was not her who had killed an entire family because of a lost blade, but a few tears over a lost love and suddenly she was a sniveling, fanciful child.

Zevran, sensing her wrath whispered, "He does not understand, do not blame him for what you are feeling. We both know who is to blame in all of this."

_Arl Eamon, of course_. "You are right, Zev." She sighed.

There was a knock at the door, and Sarah groaned. "Must we always be interrupted at every turn?"

Zevran swung the door open and the page bowed. "Mi'lady, the Arl requests your presence in the study."

"Why?" Sarah spat, not sure she was ready to face Eamon just yet.

"I-I am not sure, but Queen Anora's maid is with him, perhaps it is something to do with her."

Sarah squared her shoulders. "All right, I will be there in a moment."

She left her friends and made her way to the study, rehearsing possible directions the conversation might take so that she could be prepared for whatever Eamon told her. She did not expect to see Alistair there with Eamon, hunched over a table and reading from ancient copies of even older texts. She could not let herself look at him. She was suddenly grateful for the tears just moments before, because they helped her appear distraught before the arl, and (she regretted) before her fiance.

From his table, Alistair pretended to peruse the parchments before him, but was actually studying his love and how she reacted to Eamon. He would mimic her control and store away her methods so that when she left again, he would know how to act.

She approached Eamon, her hands balled into fists and arms hanging straight down. "What is it, Eamon?"

The elf beside him looked up. "My mistress requests your help."

"Who is your mistress?" Sarah asked, taking a step towards the elf. Her goal was to appear angry and dismissive. "We do not have time for petty requests."

Eamon waved Sarah back. "This is Erlina, Queen Anora's handmaid. What's wrong, Erlina?"

The maid explained that Anora had been captured by Howe and was trapped in his castle, that she is being kept there under Loghain's orders. "We must get her out!" she yelled.

Sarah leaned onto her back leg and folded her arms across her chest. "She has soldiers, let them free her."

Erlina wrung her hands. "My lady is afraid that if her soldiers try to rescue her, that Howe will kill her."

Eamon paced behind the women, looking at Sarah carefully. "I'm not sure that's a risk we can afford to take."

Alistair watched the proceedings, his grip tightening on the parchment he was holding. Surely Eamon was not considering sending the last of the Cousland line into Rendon Howe's estate. Suddenly, two words flashed through his mind, and he realized she was speaking to him through the taint. _Be still. Be still._ He listened to her, and to the conversation.

She shuffled, equally as rebuffed as Alistair. While she thirsted for Howe's blood, she could not help seeing this mission as a ridiculously precarious proposal. "Why should we trust her? This could all be a set-up."

Eamon continued pacing. "I fear if this is a trap, we are already caught in it. They can kill Anora and blame her death on us...We can only defend ourselves with the queen in hand."

Alistair wanted to leap up from the table. Why had Eamon forced him to end it with her if he simply intended to send her to Howe anyway!? _Be still._

"So what do you propose we do?" Sarah folded her arms and listened as the maid explained that she knew a rear entrance to the castle and had spare guard uniforms.

_How convenient,_ Sarah thought leaving the would have to take the stealthiest amongst them, and the most ruthless.

_Take Zevran_, he channeled.

_I will._


	70. At the Amaranthine

_AN: The style for this chapter is a bit choppy, but that's intentional. It's third person, but I'm sticking with Zev's point of view, so remember he doesn't know the breakup was a fake one. __ That sneaky Antivan…_

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**CHAPTER 69**

**DAY 2, PART 2**

With every step deeper into the dungeon, Zevran's longing for Antivan leather grew. His uncomfortable guard's uniform barely allowed him to raise his hands above his head, and he certainly had no peripheral vision to speak of. Likewise, the effectiveness of Morrigan's spells was greatly diminished, for the witch could not even wield her staff with any degree of efficiency. Sten, who insisted coming with them, though his size was not exactly helping them in the stealth department, was the most used to confining armor. How Anora's silly maid was able to find a suit large enough to fit a giant, Zevran was not quite sure.

As they wove through the chambers, among cages, through flickering torchlight, the smells became intense. Zevran was not unfamiliar with such odors: week's old perspiration, rotting food, masses of dried blood, and even death. The Crows often used torture before assassinations, should a client require knowledge or secrets from a mark, and these dungeons reminded him of such missions.

Sarah led them into a larger room, in which a few cages were hung blood that had dripped from them already drying on the floor. Zevran watched his captor throw her helmet onto the ground in fury.

"I have had enough of this blasted disguise, and it's coming off. Now!" She unclasped the top armor and ripped it off.

Zevran followed her lead. "Ah, Morrigan, Sten, these are the moments an Antivan dreams of. Care to join us?"

Morrigan had already made her armor disappear and she glared at him, clad her own draping robes. Sten simply grunted and kept his guard armor on.

Zevran took off his bracers and boots and sidled up to the Warden. "I'm ready now if you are, my temptress."

She jumped back, clothed in her undershirt and pants, blushing. "Zev…I didn't mean…" she quickly spun around and hid in the corner to put on her drake scale armor. He followed her.

She pulled on her skirt, facing the wall, and he leaned against it, forcing her to look at him. "I am sorry, my tesoro, I only wanted to see your smile. I have missed it today."

He watched her closely as she fumbled with her top armor. He stood up and quickly situated the breastplate and snapped it into place. Her eyes flitted as his hands moved, until he reached up to brush a stray hair from her face, and then she looked at him.

"You are so beautiful when you smile. Your templar is a fool, my dear."

Immediately she pulled away, pushing Zevran back against the wall. Her face turned a deeper shade of red and her eyes watered. She shook her head. "Get your armor on, Zev. He's not my templar anymore."

He quickly dressed, moving his arms freely. He caught up with her as she was walking into a darkened series of rooms, grabbing her arm to stop her. "There are soldiers ahead, in case you can't hear them." She nodded and unsheathed her blades.

After they killed the six or so torturers, they found an emaciated and crying man, with whom Sarah talked to for some time. She gave him some food and thanked him, but for what Zevran was not sure. Instead, his focus was on the various torturing devices the man had clearly been subjected to. He imagined that if Talisen had taken him back to Antiva, he would have met a similar fate, not to be probed for information but to be shown that he had no power in the Crows. But that was over now. Talisen was dead, and Zevran was free.

More cages, more darkened hallways, but no signs of Howe. Sarah stopped dead in her tracks.

Zevran flanked her. "What is it?"

"It's like…" she shook her head and shut her eyes, clutching the pendant around her neck. "It's like…darkspawn, but not. I sense something, like Alis…was here, but he isn't…"

"Darkspawn or not? We need to know."

She shook her head. "No, I feel the taint, but I don't feel the evil. Maybe there's a vial somewhere, or something."

They turned the corner just in time to see one of the prisoners reach through the bars and break the neck of the guard in front of his cell. Sarah pushed her companions against the wall.

"Don't move!" she ordered. She inched forward. The prisoner opened his cell and pulled the guard in. Then, a dark-haired man strolled out of the cell.

"Are you a--?" she began.

He sighed. "I am Riordin, a senior Warden from Orleis."

They spoke to each other quickly, and Zevran did not understand much of what was said. Something about papers, and blood, and reinforcements. His captor leaped forward and hugged the strange prisoner, giving him a few poultices and drawing a map to Eamon's estate on the back of some parchment.

"Find Alistair," she said. "He is another Warden, Duncan recruited him before me. He will tell you what we've discovered thus far. Be safe, my friend."

He nodded. "May the Maker watch over you…sister."

She tapped his arm before he left the dungeon, and she gestured for the others to follow her.

Another prisoner, naked, sniveling like the trapped dwarves in the Deep Roads. A Templar, Zevran concluded. Sarah searched in her pack for a lyrium potion before Morrigan tossed one at the pale-skinned man.

Another cage, a noble this time. He offered 40 sovereigns to be set free.

Sarah scoffed. "You captured and raped elves in the Alienage. Why would I ever set you free?!"

The man gripped the bars. "Because you need my family's vote at the Landsmeet."

She froze, her eyes looking from side to side.

Zevran stepped forward. "If you let him free, think of the others he could hurt. How much is his vote worth to you? The lives of innocents? You freed werewolves and destroyed the Anvil. I don't know why this should be any different."

Anger flashed across her face before she nodded. "You're right Zev." She turned to the man. "No, I will not let you out. But you will pay for your crimes, once a new ruler is crowned. I'll see to it personally." She spat on him and walked away.

More cages, then, a large chamber of cages.

A man sauntered forth from the shadows, followed by a few guards and two mages.

"Well, if this isn't Bryce Cousland's little spitfire. All grown up and still playing the man, I see."

Zevran watched her face assume its stern glare.

"Why betray us Howe? My father was your friend!"

Howe waved his arms dismissively. "A clumsy appeal, child. He was a traitor to me and to his nation! Trips to Orleis, gifts from old enemies; all the while I remain in obscurity." He took a step forward, and before Zevran could move, Sten was by her side, glaring at the arl.

He spat at her feet. "Your family squandered the glory that was rightfully mine. How suitable that their deaths should raise me to the ear of a king!"

Zevran stood directly be hind her, his blades drawn ready to slit the man's throat should he come an inch closer.

But Howe took a small step back and reached for his blades. "If you think you can take this from me, that I will allow it, you are very much mistaken!" he laughed, raising his hand to strike her down.

Sten grumbled and pushed the man to the ground. "Vashadeen!"

Sarah shouted, "The mages! Get the mages!" Zevran followed her to the pools of magical light, stabbing the healers. Morrigan interrupted their spells with hexes, disorientation, paralysis. Next the guards were taken down easily. But Howe still fought.

Sarah rushed him, screaming, her short hair whipping across her face as she turned and jumped around Howe's body. Zevran stared, and Sten backed away.

Blood spurted from him, as he turned trying to follow her movements.

"Oren! Oriana! Mother! Father! Nan! Aldous! Gilmore! Die you traitorous scum!" Crimson ripped around her, though Howe was clearly dead.

Zevran grabbed her by the waist. "Stop, he's dead."

She dropped her blades and buried her face in his shoulder. He motioned for Sten and Morrigan to check the perimeter.

She sank to the floor, pulling him down with her.

"My family, Zev—he killed my entire family…"

He stroked her hair. "He's dead now. You have avenged them."

"Why would he do it? For pride? Power?"

"Why does anyone do anything?"

"Loyalty, honor…love."

He moved a hand to cradle her face. "You know, Warden, for such a strong woman, you know little of the world. Not many fight for the reasons you do."

He watched the tears slide down her face, her eyes looking away from him to stare at the shattered corpse on the floor, blood still flowing from it. Zevran pulled her face back to him. He told himself she needed a distraction. He kissed her, his fingers cradling her cheeks, each fingertip soaked in her tears. He felt a surge of panic, of desperation, and he forced her lips apart. To him, it seemed she did not resist, and he could not restrain himself, he wanted to erase her sadness, to fill the emptiness that had clouded her eyes since yesterday afternoon.

She leaned back, and Zevran took this as a sign to lay her down. He leaned forward, but she suddenly leaped up and his forehead hit the stone floor.

"Zev," she said breathlessly. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Consoling you," he said sitting up. "It pains me to see you cry."

He meant to be serious, but she laughed at him. He was angry.

"Why do you laugh at me? I care more for you than Alistair, yet you do not seem to worry yourself with my feelings. He is the one who left you, and I am the one who is here!"

She stepped forward, and to his surprise hugged him. "Zev, it's not real. He didn't leave me. He pretended to so that Eamon would support us at the Landsmeet. Eamon did not want us to marry."

Zevran stepped back, thoroughly confused. "He did not—then why isn't he with you? What does Eamon have to do with anything?"

"Eamon wants Alistair to become king. Although, Alistair doesn't want to be king, he's willing to play to Eamon's demands so that he can help us take down Loghain."

"I still don't see what this has to do with you and Alistair getting married."

"I-I-I can't have children, Zev." She paused and took a deep breath. "Because of the taint. Eamon somehow found out and he told Alistair we couldn't marry because of that."

"And that fool templar listened to him?"

"Alistair's not like us, Zev. He wants everyone else to be happy before he thinks of himself--"

"What about your happiness?"

She stopped for a moment, and looked at the wall. "He's just not used to standing up for himself, that's all."

Zevran stepped towards her. "He was going to leave you, wasn't he?"

She froze. Then she nodded. "But he won't now. I've figured it out, and with all the people I've talked to, I think I can make it happen."

"What? Make him king or make Anora queen?"

"I haven't decided yet."

He took her by the shoulders. "You have to make him king, tesoro. This Anora is a flake."

She blushed at the word. "You only say that because you don't want me to marry him, you silly elf." She tried to smile, but she could not.

"While that may be true, it is not what I mean. You and I, we just _know_ things about people…we can read them. Although, I think this time you are too close to realize it. Anora is only out for power, she has no interest in your nation, no concern for its people."

"Zev, is this really the time for this conversation?" She touched his arm. "But I will listen to you. Let's just get back. I'm tired of this dungeon."

He put down his arms and followed her as she found Morrigan and Sten and led them up the steps.

Anora was freed, but 30 guards awaited them.

Before any of them could stop her Sarah glared at Cauthrien. "And what of my friends? If I surrender what will happen to them?"

"They are free. The teryn has no need for them."

Sarah nodded. She hugged Zevran and whispered in his ear. "Bring him back to me, Zev. Save me."

Sten and Morrigan voiced their disapproval, but the elf remained silent. He sheathed his blades and ran out of the palace. The Qunari and the witch struggled to keep up.


	71. Hardening the Templar

_AN: A few Apologies. This sequence isn't exactly canon. Anora's a bit of a bitch, but Morrigan is a little nicer __._

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**CHAPTER 70**

**DAY 2, PART 3 (Dusk)**

When Riordin greeted him, Alistair was sitting in a chair by the entrance to Eamon's estate.

"Riordin, you didn't stay with her? There's only three of us left and she was in a castle swarmed with enemies!"

The senior Warden looked at Alistair closely. "I am injured, I would not be much help to her. She had already fought her way through many of the guards; she did not appear to need my help."

Alistair felt something change. He closed his eyes, and fear washed over him, though he was safe in Eamon's estate. "Something's wrong," he said. He gripped the arms of his chair, and stood up. He paced before Riordin, who was being bandaged by a castle servant. Alistair had not bothered to call Wynne, because he was too distracted.

Alistair ran his fingers through his hair. "I knew I should not have let her go alone. They should be back by now, anyway."

Riordin winced as salves were poured onto his wounds.

Erlina and a guard ran into the room.

Alistair spun around. The guard removed his helmet; it was Anora.

"Anora, where is she?"

The queen shook her head, letting her golden hair fall around her. "Thank you, I am fine, Alistair. I don't know where your Warden is; they were right behind me."

He sighed. "You didn't stay with them? They set you free and you left them behind!?"

She glared at him. "Alistair, stop whining. Your friends are more than capable of taking care of themselves."

Erlina grabbed her lady's arm. "Come, your majesty, you need your rest." The women left down the hallway.

Riordin raised his eyebrows and looked at Alistair. "Your majesty? Then she is the queen?"

Alistair nodded, pacing, a fist balled under his chin and he looked at the ground.

Eamon emerged and greeted Riordin. "Warden, I am glad you have found us safely. I realize the queen has returned; this bodes well for us."

Riordin nodded and thanked the servant for the bandages.

Alistair continued facing the floor as he paced, but glared at Eamon from the corner of his eyes. If Eamon noticed anything, he ignored it. Instead the arl sat next to Riordin. "So where are Sarah and the others?"

Alistair stopped. "Anora left them! Maker knows where they are!" He gave Eamon a quick look before pacing again.

"He's a little temperamental at times," Eamon whispered to Riordin. "You know, young blood and all that."

If Eamon was searching for a kindred spirit with the senior Warden he would not find it. Riordin stood and ran his fingers through his beard. "So, Sarah went to Howe's estate to free the queen, and the prisoner has returned but not the one who rescued her? That seems like something we should be concerned about."

The foyer doors swung open and Zevran stormed in. He was quickly followed by a winded witch and a breathless Qunari.

Zev ran up to Alistair. "They have her. They have taken her in for treason."

Alistair grabbed the elf's shoulders. "They've taken her? How could you let this happen!?" He turned to Eamon. "Eamon! Do you see what you've done!? She told you this was a trap! You let her walk in there, blindly trusting this Erlina, and now my fiance is taken hostage by Loghain!"

"F-f-fiance?" Riordin sputtered.

Alistair threw up his hands and yelled. "How could you let this happen? She made me stay here! I relied on you to protect her and you let her get taken in!"

Zevran stood his ground. "She surrendered, you oaf! She put down her blades and surrendered so that we would be spared! Quit shouting at us and let's work on a plan to get her out of there!"

"Stop!" Riordin's voice boomed, stunning them all. "Fiance?"

"Yes, they're engaged," Zevran spat.

Eamon rose. "They _were_ engaged, but Alistair is to become king, and he will choose a more acceptable bride after his coronation."

Alistair balled his hands into fists. He towered over Eamon. "Shut up, Eamon! I will not have you belittle and dismiss her like that. If you expect me to be king, against my own wishes, against the wishes of our current queen, then let's get a few things straight. I will marry whom I choose and when I choose to do so. Your calculated risks have gotten us nowhere, and now half—I mean one-third—of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden has been captured. I will not listen to your fool notions any more!"

Eamon stood his ground. "You are too blind to you emotions to see what you are doing Alistair. Think of your duty--"

Alistair waved his hand and turned away. "My first duty is to the Wardens, my second is to her, and third it is to my country. I plan to deal with them, in that order." He looked at Zevran. "Do you have a plan?"

Sten cleared his throat. "I have a plan, kadaan. I need some paper. Who will be going for her?"

"I will." Zev and Alistair said simultaneously.

Eamon left to fetch supplies for Sten.

Suddenly, Alistair fell to the floor, clutching his arm and leaning his head back on the table.

"What the--" Morrigan murmured, looking at Alistair who seemed to be perfectly fine. "Alistair, what is wrong with you?"

Alistair stood, his face contorted, his eyes shut. He turned to Riordin. "Do you feel that? A swirling in the taint?"

Riordin narrowed his eyes, "Do you sense darkspawn? I have nothing…"

"It's her…" Alistair whispered. "She's hurt, she's trying to tell me where she is, but she's in too much pain--" his voice caught in his throat.

Morrigan placed a consoling hand on his forearm. "We will get her back, Alistair."

Riordin's confusion nearly doubled. "You can sense her pain? You know where she is?"

Alistair nodded. "Doesn't that happen? She sends us a message and you receive it?"

Eamon returned and Sten began writing on the parchment as Zevran looked on.

Riordin shook his head. "No. I mean, if other Wardens are nearby, I can sense them, but as far as sending messages like that, I'm not sure I've heard of that before." He paused. "Do you? Sense her?"

Morrigan scoffed. "In every way imaginable…" she smiled fondly at Alistair, who returned her attempt at a playful joke with a half smile.

"Um, not all the time. It takes a lot of effort actually. If darkspawn are near, we can't; it's too confusing, but if we're fighting non-darkspawn it happens more often than not. Sometimes, when we're side by side we can, but it takes a lot of concentration." He touched the back of his head, expecting to find blood, but of course he was fine.

Riordin narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "I have never heard of that. I can see why, though. Generally, we can tap into the Darkspawn group mind, so that we can sense them, and each other. Of course, they can sense us, too. But, it doesn't seem that strange, considering it has just been the two of you for so long, perhaps somewhere in the Fade and with the taint, you've carved out a channel somewhere…That is interesting…"

"Alistair?" Zevran said. "Are you sure you want to go? We will have to be quiet and remain unseen. Can you do that?"

He nodded. "I'll do what I need to, Zev. Do you have a plan, Sten?"

Sten nodded and glanced at Zev. "We will leave at midnight, then."

Alistair clutched his arm again, feeling pain he knew was not his own. "Midnight? Why not now? It's nearly dark!"

"By midnight, Fort Drakon will be nearly empty and the guards already tired from their shifts."

"What if something happens to her before then!?"

Zevran shook his head. "They will not kill her tonight. They have ample reasons to keep her alive."

"Such as? She's killed an arl, well a teryn, if they believed Howe. Why would they keep her alive?"

Zevran's thought's flashed to the nobleman's son they saved, and to the bloodied suspended cages, to the torture chamber filled with demonic devices used to inflict great pain on any prisoner. He shook his head and could not look up from the table.

Alistair tried to grab Zevran's arm, but fell onto the floor, lightheaded. He closed his eyes once more, and saw a barred cell, one guard, and a second prisoner in an adjacent cell. _I love you, Ser Templar. I'm going to take a nap now. I'll see you when I wake up._

"Sh-sh-she's in a cell…asleep. Midnight?"

Zevran nodded.

Eamon, for all his concern over bloodlines and heirs, was grateful Alistair had stood up to him. Finally, Maric's son was starting to behave like a king. Eamon also knew, should Sarah not return, there would be little hope for any of them, including this Templar turned Grey Warden, whom Eamon resolved to never cross again.


	72. The Rescue

**CHAPTER 71**

**DAY 2, PART 4 (Night)**

It was nearly eleven o'clock before Morrigan went to find Alistair in his bedchamber. After the frantic scene earlier that evening, and given that Sarah was still being held at Fort Drakon, she wanted to give Alistair sufficient time to sort out whatever quarrel he had with Eamon. Alistair had told all of the companions of his lineage, Eamon's intentions, and Sarah's plans to deal with the Landsmeet. As he spoke, swirling pieces of information, both true and false, began to fall into place, and the makeshift group of soldiers felt eased that the Alistair finally trusted them enough to share some of his daunting responsibility. Some more than the others, were also relieved to discover that the Wardens still in love.

Morrigan, though usually not concerned with matters of the heart, felt a strange affection and concern for all of her companions, even aside from the fact they had help slay Flemeth and that she had plans for the Wardens after the archdemon showed itself.

She found Alistair shining his armor and sharpening his sword by the torchlight in his room.

The door was open, so she walked in slowly. "Alistair?"

He looked up, his expression soft and his brow furrowed with worry. "Uh, Morrigan?"

She waved her hand. "No, do not worry, I am not here to turn you into a toad, much as I would like to." She leaned against the doorway, and pretended to check her fingernails for dirt. "I simply wanted to bring to your attention some of the events that occurred before Sarah's capture."

He looked back his work, trying to hide his confusion from the witch. "What else is there to tell? Free a few prisoners, kill Howe, save the queen, go to prison. That about covers it, right?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Well, what then?" he asked, polishing his breastplate furiously. Whether Morrigan's intentions were to anger him or inform him, he could not tell, but her reticence was frustrating.

"You should know that Zevran tried to…caboodle your fellow Warden when he thought my back was turned."

"He what!?" He dropped his polishing cloth to the floor and scrambled to pick it up. He sighed. "Did she--?"

Morrigan laughed lightly. "Alistair, you do not have to worry about that. As far as I can tell, she was crying on the floor after we killed that repulsive Howe, something about her family—I'm sure you know more about it than I—and he consoled her, for a moment. I turned for a second, searching the corners for more guards, but when I looked again, he had his fingers in her hair. The next thing I knew, she was jumping to her feet cursing at him."

Alistair rose from his chair. "Morrigan, are you sure of what you saw? Are you trying to anger me for fun?"

She shifted her weight in the doorway. "I simply wanted to let you know before you take him with you to rescue her."

He ran his hand through his hair. "Our entire plan depends on him and his stealthing…"

"I know, and that makes it all the more important for you to rethink your strategy."

"Such as? It's not like I can sneak in there. First, my armor is too noisy, I'm not exactly small, or--"

"Nimble?"

He sighed.

"Then, let me propose this. There is a kennel at the fort, is there not."

"I'm sure there is; it is a Ferelden stronghold after all."

"Then, you take the mabari and _deliver_ him to the kennel."

"Surely they won't just let me walk in there--"

Morrigan reached into her robes, pulling out some crisp pieces of parchment. "I have already forged orders for you. They will get you in."

He reached out his hand to take the papers, but stopped. "Wait, why are you being so helpful?"

Morrigan bridged the distance between their hands and handed him the papers. "You are not the only one who cares for her Alistair, we all want to see her returned safely." She laughed lightly. "There's no instruction in my mother's Grimiore about this, I promise you. No dragons hidden between these pages."

He was quiet as he read over the parchments. "Thank you, Morrigan."

She turned to leave. "I haven't done anything yet to receive your thanks."

Alistair shut the door and put on his armor. He spied his weapons lined along the wall, his clothes in the bureau. No, he wanted to complete one more task before telling the Antivan he was going alone. Alistair packed up his belongings and carried them to the adjacent wing of the palace. He found Sarah's room, and unpacked them again. He folded his shirts next to hers, lined his heavy swords alongside her shorter, lighter ones. Finally, he took out the rose and placed it on her—no, _their_—bed. He wanted to take the shiny Cousland ring from his pocket and slide it on his finger, but he knew that he could not wear the Cousland seal and lie his way into Fort Drakon. Nor could he carry her father's shield with him as he had done since Ostagar. He chose his Templar shield instead.

He wandered through the castle, and finally found Dog barking at the door to the larder, which the kitchen servants had locked up tightly. Dog saw him and whined. Crouching beside the Mabari, Alistair pet him fondly.

"Are you ready to rescue your master?"

_Happy bark_.

"You'll have to be fierce, should things take a wrong turn. It's just you and me this time."

_Dedicated bark_.

"Let's go find us an elf, and we'll get out of here."

They found Zevran in the parlor, drinking whimsically with Oghren and Leliana. Alistair and the warhound spanned the large doorway.

"Zevran."

The elf looked up, smirking. Though he had been drinking none of his faculties were diminished. "A little early aren't we? Yes, we have another half-hour yet."

"No, you're staying here."

"But--"

"No, Zevran. I'm had enough of people telling me what to do today. And don't think that she won't tell me exactly what happened in that dungeon when she gets back."

He did not wait for an answer before he left the drunken bard, the loquacious dwarf, and the stunned Antivan in the room. He led Dog into the chill night air and across the Drakon River bridge, and swiftly through the slumbering town's main streets. Dog barked at him appreciatively, happy to finally be included and to get away from the strange Qunari who kept growling at him.

* * *

She slipped in and out of the Fade. First, she saw her father, then her mother. And Duncan. But Duncan would not speak to her, no matter how loudly she yelled. Sometimes she would only see black, and sometimes she would see the cold, dirty, grey stone floor beneath her. She moved in flashes, her head throbbing in wakefulness, her heart aching in sleep.

Each visit to the Fade was followed by fuzzy returns to the present. She lured the guard to her cell, and when he was close enough, she tore off his helmet and punched him in the side of his head. He fell to the floor, and so did she.

Oren and Oriana playing in the meadow. Mother's laughter ringing through the air.

Black.

Cold stone. A key. She crawled along the damp floor and unlocked her cell.

Black.

Father and Fergus sword-fighting in the open yard.

The other prisoner, the one who chided her for trying to escape, ran from the hall, leaving her leaning against the cold, iron bars.

Black.

She ran to Duncan, screaming at him. He pushed her back, his lips forming words she could not hear.

Black.

Hands.

Strong hands, pulling her off the ground. Large warm arms around her.

Eyelids fluttering. Back in the Fade? Calloused fingers on her cheeks. Kind, amber eyes.

Liquid in her throat. She was aware, light streamed into her eyes.

"Alistair?" she croaked.

"My love."

She saw his face, but felt pain all over. "Wha-wha-what happened to me?"

He placed her carefully on the floor beside a chest. "I'm not sure. You have a broken arm, and your head is bleeding. I should have brought, Wynne…Maker, what was I thinking..."

She slumped to the side, but Dog trotted to her, catching her weight in his soft, warm fur.

Alistair barred the large door shut. He fumbled with the lock on the chest before simply smashing it with the hilt of his sword. He found her undershirt and ripped it into strips. Then, he found the arm plates of her armor.

"Watch the door," he ordered Dog. Dog complied, ensuring Alistair was holding Sarah before he trotted away.

Alistair lifted her frail, nearly naked frame into his lap. She rested her throbbing head against his chest. He gently moved her blood soaked hair away from the gash on her scalp. She winced and grabbed his arm with her left hand.

"Be still, my love."

His soft, deep voice consoled her, she felt at peace. He bandaged her head, and it felt some better.

He sighed, turning her face to look at him. "This is going to hurt. A lot. I'm going to set your arm, but you can't scream." He touched her face tenderly, and she nodded into his palm. She turned her face into his shoulder, and wrapped her left arm around his back.

He took her slender, crooked arm in his hands.

She let out a soft groan as his fingers gripped her skin near the break. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Snap!

She clutched his armor with her other arm, whimpering quietly.

"You're so strong, love," he said. He took out her armor plating and used strips from her torn undershirt to tie a makeshift splint.

She unburied her face and watched him, trying to keep tears from falling down her cheeks. He bent over and kissed her tenderly. She sniffed and nodded, and he helped her to her feet.

Dog barked.

Alistair glanced around, looking for a place to hide.

"My armor—help me put on my armor."

"You can't fight them, your arm's broken."

She shook her head, swallowing thickly, pushing the pain into her stomach. "I can still fight with my left arm. I've been practicing."

_Bark!_

Alistair dressed her as quickly as he dared. She was covered in bruises, abrasions, her arms spotted where hands had gripped her so tightly that impressions were still left after all these hours.

"Which sword do you want?"

"The one with the slow rune," she pointed. He complied.

"I have a plan," she said.

"Of course you do." He smiled at her, and she returned it.

They moved as one, the poultice she drank kept her head from spinning, and Alistair protected her broken arm with his shield. Dog followed them, whipping around in surprise to take out the guards from behind.

She laughed in merriment a few times, to avoid herself from thinking of the fathers, brothers, and sons who were dying swiftly at her hand. They had no quarrel with her, she knew, but it did not ease the guilt in her heart. Blood splayed upon her, and she wished for Darkspawn, evil death, not vigilant life cut short too early.

Soon, they were in the main hall, moving quickly now, only slaying those who were in their way, avoiding large groups of guards. Finally they made it out the door, down the palace ramps, through the grassy gardens, and back to Eamon's.

She collapsed on the soft rug in the foyer. Eamon scooped her into his arms and lifted her onto the couch, where kind and patient Wynne went to work.

Alistair petted Dog, and prayed to the Maker, entirely sure of what he should ask for, and thankful that he had received it a thousand times over.


	73. The Broken Wardens

**CHAPTER 72**

**DAY 2, PART 5 (Night)**

Alistair sat outside the room where Wynne was working her healing magic with the help of Leliana and a few of the female house servants. He heard light chatter among the women, interspersed with Wynne's orders and warnings. Every so often he would hear Sarah's voice, still gravelly and weak, but she sounded more and more relieved as time wore one. Of course, he wished to be with her, but he knew he would only be in the way, so he waited. The castle was quiet, everyone else, save a few guards, had left for bed. He listened to the fire crackling in the foyer, echoed by other fires through the rooms of the cavernous estate.

Although she had forgiven him for his weaknesses, things between them had not felt _right_ since his first confrontation with Eamon, and Alistair wrapped himself in the familiar blanket of guilt. He scolded himself for nearly betraying her, the second person in his life who actually cared about what he wanted. Duncan was the first; the kind senior Warden saved Alistair from a fate worse than Darkspawn, from a life relegated to control and misery. Then, she stepped into his life, lightly treading on its outskirts until his mentor died. She took one more step inward, testing the boundaries of his heart, pulling him out of his grief although she was trying to overcome her own. She never forced him to be something he did not want to be, encouraged him to find his own happiness, but never pushed him away.

He regretted not remaining more loyal to her, he regretted letting Eamon's words get the better of him. Then, she had been captured, taken in by Loghain, surrendering herself so the others would be spared, and Alistair was angry. Angry at everyone. Eamon, Zevran, Howe, Loghain, Cailin, Anora, and even Sarah. But more than that, Alistair was mad at himself. He did not deserve the love she showered upon him, he was too weak to return it with any semblance of equaled dedication.

Then, he finally found her, a frail, bruised body slumped against the cell. He revived her, and she took one look at his face, and waves of trust washed over him, and he wondered how she could still have faith in him after he had repeatedly doubted himself. She was the guardian of his heart, his soul, his being, and she never failed him.

He felt a tender hand on his arm, and he looked up. Leliana smiled down at him.

"She's asking for you," the bard chimed. "But…" Leliana's voice hitched, "…we had to cut her hair, because of her wounds."

"Wounds? As in more than one?"

Leliana nodded and swallowed. "The one you bandaged was by far the worst, but she had other minor injuries along her scalp, and—it was just a mess. She acts like it doesn't bother her, but it does."

He nodded, returning her consoling gaze. "Leliana, when I found her, she was almost naked. Did they--?"

She shook her head. "No, we thought as much, too, but she's fine. They may have beaten her a bit, but nothing beyond that. She seems to remember most of what happened until her head hit the floor, but don't ask her about it just yet. She feels extremely guilty."

"Guilty?"

Another nod. Leliana squatted beside him. "For letting you down, I'm afraid."

"Letting me down? That's ridiculous!"

She chuckled. "Alistair, you know as well as I do there's no telling her otherwise. She's fiercely loyal, to all of us, but especially to you."

He stood, and Leliana rose as well. "Thanks, my friend," he said, straightening his shirt and styling his bangs with his fingers.

She gave him a quick hug and scampered off. He walked to the door, allowing the few, tired servants file out before he idled in, meeting Wynne just by the doorway.

She smiled at him warmly. "You can take her to bed now. But no strenuous activity, young man. She needs her rest."

Alistair blushed. "Of course, not." He placed his hand on Wynne's shoulder. "Thank you. For everything."

She returned the gesture. "Alistair, I know that I was…less than thrilled when the two of you started…"

"Caboodling?" he grinned.

She laughed. "Yes, but, you are good for each other. You make her extremely happy. It is comforting to see something so beautiful emerge in all this darkness." She smiled again, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

Alistair pulled the mage into a tight hug. Wynne returned the gesture before leaving the room.

Alone and safe at last. A wide grin crept onto his face as he sidled the couch upon which she was lain.

"Hey there," he said.

"Ser Templar…" she rasped, her voice still weak. She reached out her left hand for his. He took her hand and sat on the floor next to her.

"I love you," he said, tracing her cheeks with his other hand.

"I am so sorry, Alistair." She hiccuped and shut her eyes.

"Shh, no more apologies, love. Are you ready to go to bed now?"

She nodded. He rose and lifted her into his arms. He walked smoothly along the corridors, finally arriving at her chamber.

She first noticed his large shields aligning the wall, and her blades alongside his. Her hand touched his neck. "Why are your things in here with mine?"

He looked into her eyes. "We share everything now. This space is ours, not yours or mine. Ours."

"But what about Eamon?"

"I've taken care of Eamon. I did what I should have done to begin with." He laid her on the bed, and tucked the covers around her. He took two candles from the cupboard, used a glowing torch to light them, and placed them on either side of the bed. Snuffing out the torch, he went to the bureau, taking out some pajamas and changing quickly.

She watched him as moved in the darkness, her heart swelled, further easing the numbing pain in her head and along her body. She felt something brush her cheek, and turned her head to spy the rose falling between the two pillows. She took it and poked her nose into the delicate petals and sniffed deeply. Even after months it retained some of its effervescent aroma. She placed it on the table by the bed.

He crawled under the covers and found her left hand. She felt the cold silver band slide onto her finger and watched him closely as he took her father's ring and slid it onto his own finger.

He laid on his back next to her, one arm wrapping around her shoulders. She rested her broken arm on his warm, undulating torso. Infrequent purple sparks shimmered around her arm, holding her bones in place and melting them back together. She was mesmerized by the magic cast and the backdrop of his muscular abdomen and chest.

He held her tiny fingertips, warming them in his palm.

She smiled and met his eyes, the candles flickered on either side of them, casting shadows and yellow light on their faces.

He kissed her forehead, carefully avoiding any of the abrasions along her scalp. Her hair was cut short, almost as short as his own. The blood had been washed out of it, but the lacerations in her skin were still dark red.

"I like this new hairstyle. It suits you quite well."

"I hate it," she grumbled.

"I suppose I'll just have to love you more to make up for it then."

She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"My love?" he crooned.

"Mmm?"

"Are we okay?"

"Just make me one promise."

"What's that?"

"Next time I tell you to be still, don't listen to me. Don't let me run off on my own anymore. Clearly I'm lost without you."

He chuckled. "I promise. Now. Let's talk about the wedding. I'm thinking lots of flowers, roses. Teagan will be my best man…"

"…I'm going to sleep now."

"Right, love. I'll be here when you wake up."

"I love you," she mumbled, drooling a little on his neck as she fell sleep.

He sighed contentedly and followed his dreams into the Fade.


	74. No More Apologies

_AN: And the fluffiness continues. I promise, next chapter, we'll get down to business…courtly, Blight-related business._

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**CHAPTER 73**

**DAY 3, PART 1**

The morning sun peaked through the small window in their room, and Alistair used the ambiance from this first light to carefully look at Sarah's battered head. Her brown hair had its usual luster, and due to its short length seemed puffier than usual. Under the numerous, wispy strands however, were stitched abrasions, mostly small ones, save for a large laceration on the back of her skull. Wynne, of course, had done a much better job of bandaging and healing her wounds than he had, but just the sight of that large gash made him wince. His mind wondered over the possible ways this could have happened, how she could have been beaten so badly and still managed to get herself out of her cell.

She was wearing a soft, thin gown, and some of her injuries showed through the light fabric. Her body was covered in bruises, though this was not abnormal. Instead of round, faint contusions, however, her arms and stomach were layered with fist-shaped red splotches and oddly-shaped grey-blue discolorations. Wynne had covered Sarah's skin with a numbing salve and mixed potions that healed her interior organs as she slept, but Alistair's mind leaped back, imagining guards flocking her naked body, shoving their fists into her soft skin, handling her strong frame as if it were nothing, slamming her against walls and forcing her onto cold, hard floors. The protector in him nearly raged at the sight; he imagined himself easily beserking through Denerim, as if caught up in one of Oghren's angry drunken spells, and killing every silver-armored guard along the way. What was worse, he knew that she was no weakling, was not one to flinch in battle, despite going against opponents more than twice her size. The thought of her being manhandled without any hope of retaliation churned his stomach. He wished to make her pain his own, that all of her injuries be taken from her body and placed on his in tenfold.

How he had let her out of his sight, he was not quite sure. Both of them felt Erlina's request was an eerie one, and Eamon all but ordered Sarah to comply. And Alistair had said nothing, until it was too late. Sure, Sarah told him to stay, but she only did that so he would not feel more anxiety than necessary. She had tried protecting him from his own frustration and anger with her forceful but calming ease. Once again, she had become his protector instead, shielding him from the harmful blows of his own inadequacy, his unrelenting weaknesses.

She stirred next him. She was laying on her side with her broken arm still draped across his stomach. Her head rested in the soft crevasse between his shoulder blade and his chest. She sighed shakily.

"Alistair if you don't stop staring at my injuries and blaming yourself for them, I am going to punch you." She kissed his chest and tried to sit up.

Maneuvering carefully around her broken limb, Alistair sat up and gently lifted her, resting her back against the pillows lining the headboard. She tried leaning her head back, but, just in time, reminded herself that was not a good idea. She reached her left hand to touch her hair and pulled at it desperately, as if pure strength would make it grow faster.

She turned her head away from him and covered her eyes with her hand.

"My love…" he said, cupping her cheek and turning her to face him.

She gripped his wrist and met his eyes. "I'm sure I look horrid," she whispered.

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving her face. "Never."

She sobbed. "Of all that we've been through, I am more upset for losing my hair than anything else. What a childish, silly…"

He leaned over, kissing the tears away from her cheeks. "You are beautiful," he said. "And you aren't upset about your hair. You're upset that Howe killed your family, and even after returning the favor, your mourning has not abated at all."

She stopped crying for a second. "You are…exactly right." She threw her left arm around him. "Alistair, I was so frightened. And he mocked me, all I could see were the faces of my family etched into his blades. I thought that once it was over, I would feel better. But…I don't. Killing Howe didn't bring them back." She paused. "And I miss my hair."

Alistair looked away. "I-I-I should have been with you," he stammered. "I'm sorry. I left you with that elf--"

She stopped his lips with a kiss. "Let's stop wasting time blaming each other. For anything." She rested her head in the crook of his neck, and he kissed her cheek.

"Deal."

"I have so much…pain in my heart. I can easily feel it boiling over into rage." She cradled his face. "I need you to keep me grounded. Don't let me lose sight of what's important."

"I am here for you, love. Whatever you need. But, I could ask as much from you. I'm so mad at Eamon and Anora right now, I can barely think straight."

"If it makes you feel any better, I have just enough votes to sway the Landsmeet our way. With Howe gone…" she took a deep breath, "there's no one to speak for Highever, and that tips the scales in our direction."

"And what will we do with that direction?"

She sighed. "I have to talk to Anora, I suppose. But I'm not sure she'll be honest with me."

He shook his head. "I can't believe she left you in that palace, after you saved her."

"Alistair, she is the queen. She had to get to safety."

"Heh. Some queen."

She leaned back. "Are you ready for this?"

"Is anyone ever ready for these things? How do you get ready to be king?"

She smiled at him. "Find yourself a good chief advisor and save your country from a Blight."

He pulled her into a hug, carefully avoiding pushing his hands into her bruised skin. "Well, I'm halfway there, then."

She took her left hand and fingered his hair at the base of his neck. "So, how long do you think I'll be kept off strenuous activity?"

He pulled back and raised an eyebrow. "I won't tell if you won't."

She giggled. "Hmm, I'm pretty good at keeping secrets..."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. A page stuck his head in, and Alistair quickly covered Sarah with the blankets.

"My lord--"

Alistair groaned, and crawled off the bed.

"Yes, what is it?"

"The arl requests your pr--"

"You tell Eamon that if he wants to see me, he'll have to wait a couple of hours. My fiance is ill, and she needs care-taking for the morning."

"B-b-but--" the page stuttered

"Look, I don't mean to be rude--" Alistair stopped mid-sentence, realizing Sarah was at his side, her healthy arm holding a blanket around her body.

She smiled at the page. "Tell Eamon he is welcome to visit us in an hour. Would you also be so kind as to have breakfast sent over, as well as bring Wynne—the healer—here in a half an hour."

Alistair carefully slid his arm around her waist. He nodded to the page. "What she said."

The page bowed, looking confused, and left the doorway.

Alistair shut the door. "No strenuous activity?" he pouted.

She grinned. "Well, I'm going to need some help getting dressed. Besides, the more time I have to recuperate, the more…uh, strenuous…we can be."

She let the blanket fall to the floor. The sunlight from the window shone through her gown so it was as if she were wearing nothing at all. Alistair looked past her battered skin and saw her for what she was: the light of his life.

"Maker…I am a lucky man."

She smiled and blushed. "And I am a lucky woman."

The kissed briefly before he rather unhappily helped her dress in more decent clothing. Breakfast arrived, and they ate quickly. She refused his help and made a mess trying to spread jam on a scone with one hand. He laughed at her and rustled her short hair. She smiled at him fondly, one tear of pure joy and peace escaping her eyelid.


	75. Arl Eamon Gets Played

**CHAPTER 74**

**DAY 3**

**First meeting.**

Sarah finally gave in, allowing Alistair to feed her. She tried to chew seductively, like she had read about fair maidens doing in ancient romances, but, sadly, Sarah was not a fair maiden. She was a Grey Warden, and that meant she ate quickly and without much grace. The breakfast trays were taken away, and Alistair changed his own clothes, dressing in a red nobleman's outfit that was trimmed with gold embroidery and dark brown buttons. Sarah watched him from her perch on the bed, dressed in a simple noblewoman's gown. Apparently someone had stole in and taken both of their common clothes, so the Grey Wardens were forced to look the part.

The bed, she was told by Alistair, was to be her only place of occupancy today, and all of their necessary meetings would take place here. He did his best to arrange the pillows comfortably around her, propping her broken arm beside her, and fluffing pillows behind her just right so that her head did not rest on the wooden headboard. On the table by the bed, alongside the rose, were a chair for himself, a glass of water, and some parchment and vellum.

After carefully combing and arranging his hair, Alistair turned from the vanity. Sarah gaped at him, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide.

"What?" he asked.

Without changing her expression, she simply said, "And I thought you looked good in splintmail."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

She waved her left hand at him. "But this? In red? Why haven't I seen you in red before? Your eyes, they're just…beautiful. And you look so strong…you look like you belong in that robe." Her eyes traced the outlines of his muscles, the garment draped around him in all the right places, as if it were tailor made for him.

He was slightly embarrassed, he was not used to her looking at him like that for so long. "Stop staring at me."

She gave him a half smile. "You do it to me all the time. I don't see how this is any different."

He shuffled his feet and looked at the floor. "I don't want you to look at me like I'm a king, or a noble, or anything like that. I just want you to see me."

She reached out her hand. "Come here, Alistair."

He stepped forward, and took her hand, and finally returned her gaze.

"I do see you, Alistair. I see your power, your grace. Don't you know how amazing you are?"

"I just--" he looked away again.

She shook her head. "No, Alistair. It's all there. Those things you tell yourself you don't have, you do. You are capable of a lot, of so much more than you give yourself credit for. I am afraid…" she paused and took a deep breath, "that you think no one has ever wanted you because of some inadequacy you carry around."

"Isn't it?"

"Sit." She pointed to the chair. He sat. "No. Don't you see, all that you have been through has made you who you are. If your mother hadn't died, you would never had met Eamon. If you hadn't gone to the chantry, Duncan would never had recruited you…We wouldn't have met. The world, our lives, are far from perfect, but that doesn't mean they can't be good. You have made the darkest part of my life the most joyful, and it's not just because I love you, it's because of you. You're the light in the darkness, the last rose in Lothering, the strong, patient, compassionate man who will help us save Thedas. We all have faults, but you don't have nearly as many as you think you do."

She dropped his hand and touched his cheek. "At Ostagar, I was proud to call you my brother. In Haven, I was overjoyed to call you my love. In a few days, I will be honored to call you my king. And I'm not the only one."

He looked up and narrowed his eyes. "First your brother, then your love? That's a bit kinky, isn't it?"

She took a swing at him, but he avoided it. Then, he leaned forward, carefully touching her short hair, avoiding the cuts under it, and kissed her, filling the movements with such devotion, gratitude, and love, that he no longer doubted himself, as long as she were here.

"I love you," she said.

"And I you."

She leaned against the pillows and made an unpleasant face.

"What? Is my kissing that bad? You've never complained before…"

She shook her head and closed her eyes. Whatever pain-reducing potion or salves Wynne had given Sarah had chosen that moment to wear away. She suddenly felt the full power of her injuries. She felt her heartbeat in her head, each thump sending a disturbing amount of pouding pain into her skull. Her arm ached, steadily at first, and in a few seconds grew to almost an Ogre-like grip of a twinging throb. Instantly , she regretted breakfast, every muscle in her stomach seemed to scream in anger, desiring to reject the sustenence her body had so recently consumed.

Alistair took her hand and she squeezed his palm mercilessly.

She kept her eyes closed. "Wynne. Get Wynne."

He cradled her cheek before leaving the chair and opening the door. He grabbed a wandering maid by the arm. "The healer. Now."

Spurred by his desperate expression and the strength of his grip, the maid dropped the towels she was carrying and ran down the hall. Alistair left the door open, and returned to the bedside. She found his hand again, holding it tightly, keeping her eyes shut.

She groaned, and started breathing heavily. She turned her head, not wanting him to see her pain, as it washed in continuous waves over her body. Remembering how she was covered in bruises, he dared not touch her anywhere, and prayed silently.

Wynne rushed into the room. "I'm running a little late, I'm afraid." She glanced at Alistair. "Wait outside, dear."

He shook his head. "No, she needs me."

Sarah let go of his hand. "Go!" she exhaled. She didn't want him to see her like this; he would blame himself, she knew. He backed out of the room slowly, fists hanging limply.

Wynne shut the door and went to work quickly, hovering her hands over Sarah's body to reassess the damage and formulate proper dosages of magic, poultices, and potions.

Outside the closed door, Alistair paced, shaking his hands nervously at his side. He spied Eamon walking down the hall, and glared at him.

Eamon approached, his own tan and yellow nobleman's robe paled alongside Alistair's red one. "How is she, Alistair?" the arl asked, hiding no concern for the injured rogue.

Alistair, through his frustration, sensed Eamon's genuine guilt. "I-well-she was fine a few moments ago, but I suppose the salves and poultices had worn away." He met Eamon's gaze. "It's not good, Eamon. She's injured everywhere…" Alistair felt his voice give.

Eamon put his arm around Alistair. "She's strong, my boy, we both know that. She'll make it."

Alistair spun from Eamon's grasp and whipped his head to face the door. Sarah released a loud, ear-piercing scream. Heat rose to Alistair's cheeks, and his heart pounded in his chest. At the shriek, Eamon jumped and he followed Alistair's gaze to the door.

"Maker…" Eamon mumbled.

Then, somewhere beyond the fear and the guilt, Alistair found the strength to smile. She had planned this. She had bloody planned for Eamon to arrive here at this moment.

"Eamon, I love her so much. I don't know what I'll do if she--"

"No, no words like that, Alistair." Eamon paused and stared at the floor. "I am sorry for what I tried to do to you, Alistair. After last night, I started thinking of what I went through, marrying Isolde, and…I'm not sure how I was so callous with you. Clearly, you love her, and it's a strong love, one of the strongest I've ever seen. And she is good for you, good for Ferelden. You have my sincerest apologies.."

"Forget it ever happened, Eamon," Alistair replied. He had planned on punching the arl at some point today, but as Eamon stood there, Alistair realized that the arl's own cold-hearted actions had forced Alistair to take account for his life, his love, and to re-evaluate what was important.

Wynne stuck her head at the door and looked at Alistair. "You can come in now, Alistair."

Alistair nodded to the mage. He glanced at Eamon. "Give us a moment, will you?"

Eamon nodded. "Of course."

Alistair slipped in, finding a familiar sparkle in Sarah's eyes. Wynne stood at the vanity, mixing a few more potions to leave in case the pain returned.

Sarah reached for Alistair's hand, he took it quickly and resumed his place in the chair beside the bed.

"Are you all right?" he asked tentatively.

She nodded. "I am. Much better. Though, I've been given a nother lecture on 'strenuous activity' by that biddy over there."

Wynne grunted. "I told you, break the rules and no more poultices, young lady. _You_ may feel like conquering the world, but your body hasn't quite caught up with you, yet. Give it some time."

"Yes, mother," they replied at once. After a brief and awkward second, all three of them burst into laughter. Wynne took another fond look at the Wardens and slipped out of the room. On her way out, she glanced at Eamon, and went on her way.

Sarah leaned against the pillows. "So, Ser Templar, tell me, how did Eamon react?"

Alistair smiled and ran his fingers along her hair. "He's like putty in your hands, my dear."

"Good." She sighed. "Send him in."

_Author's End Note_:_ Ah, guilt and manipulation, when placed in the right hands, are very strong tools._


	76. Aftershock

_AN: A few things. Hello to all the new dedicated readers who have committed themselves to this long, wordy journey. Glad you could join us! A special thanks to all of my frequent reviewers and suggestion-givers (you know who you are). A bit of a warning, the end of this chapter introduces some post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms, which may be a bit heavy for our younger viewers. We'll still be hopeful, though, so don't get too sad (just a little sad). I'm also taking some liberty with the Landsmeet voting numbers, so no need to point out my "inaccuracies" __._

**CHAPTER 75**

**DAY 3**

**Second meeting.**

"Wait," Sarah said, grabbing Alistair's wrist. "Write these down for me."

"Of course," he replied, grabbing some parchment and a quill. "What is it?"

"We need to make a schedule first. That way, we can send the pages to collect our visitors, and hopefully be finished with all of this chatting by lunch."

"Sounds good. What's the plan?"

"Okay, after Eamon, we need to talk to Zevran."

"Zevran? Isn't that more of a personal issue?"

She shook her head. "No, I have a task for him." Before Alistair could reply, she continued. "Next, we should talk with Riordin, to see if there's any way possible to recruit more Wardens. We also need to discuss the archdemon and battle strategy. After Ostagar…" Her voice trailed, she could not finish the thought. "Anyway, after Riordin, we should see Anora--"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I'm not going to listen to her, I just want to talk to her, to get a feel for what she's thinking."

"Okay…"

"Can you think of anything else?"

"Nope, that about covers it."

"Good."

Alistair stood, feeling a little like a clerk in the abbey. He handed the parchment off to a page and ushered Eamon in.

Eamon walked to the bedside and took Sarah's hand. "How do you fair, my lady?"

She sighed. "I think I'll live, Eamon, but…it was awful…" She took a sip from the glass of water. "I really don't feel like talking about it, if you don't mind."

Eamon set her hand down gently. "Of course, I understand."

Alistair placed a hand on Eamon's shoulder, gently pushing the arl aside so that he could sit next to Sarah.

Eamon took a few more paces back. "Right. I suppose we should discuss the Landsmeet."

"Yes," the Wardens answered in unison.

Eamon raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

"Believe it or not, Eamon," Sarah began, "going to Howe's tipped the voting pool in our favor. I have ensured the votes of 6 of the 11 nobles we will need at the Landsmeet, including Arl Wulff and Bann Alfstanna of the Waking Seas."

"That is commendable," Eamon replied, pacing before the foot of the bed. "However, we do not have any evidence that directly links Loghain to treason or desertion."

Alistair clenched his fists. "I was there. He abandoned Cailin and the Grey Wardens! He left our army and our brothers to die at the hands of darkspawn!"

Sarah covered his arm with her hand.

Eamon spoke evenly. "While I believe you, Alistair, we need more than just your word against Loghain. He _is_ the hero of Ferelden. We will need proof if we are to convince the Landsmeet he must step down. Furthermore, if we are trying to put you on the throne, anything you say will be of little persuasive value to anyone we're trying to bring to our side."

Sarah spoke up. "Have you any ideas, Eamon?"

"No, either Loghain or Howe has covered their tracks very carefully."

"Well, I met Sighard's son in Howe's dungeon; he had been tortured…almost beyond recognition--"

"Tortured!?" Alistair exclaimed. Now he realized why Zevran insisted Howe's men would keep Sarah alive: to torture her. How much else happened yesterday that he didn't know about?

Sarah nodded. "Yes. I'm not quite sure why, but we have that."

"That is most disturbing…" Eamon said slowly. "Unfortunately, though, we don't have any proof of that either."

"What? So Loghain can just get away with these things because he's crafty?" Alistair shouted.

"Alistair, calm down," she said evenly. "Eamon is right."

Alistair threw up his hands and stood by the bed. He, too, began pacing. "So what has all your work been for, if it won't get us anywhere?"

Eamon stopped moving and watched the Wardens carefully. "Alistair, the work of your fellow Warden will do a lot, but not enough. We will have to talk to Anora, I'm afraid. She seems prepared to align with us, for now. Of course, I haven't told her our plans to put you forth as king—"

"Maker…" Alistair mumbled.

"I will talk with her, Eamon. I have a plan."

"She always has a plan," Alistair explained.

Eamon chuckled lightly. "So I've come to understand. What is your plan, my lady."

Sarah grinned mischeivously. "One of our companions is well-versed in…coercion and…" she cleared her throat and tried not blush, "seduction."

Alistair stopped pacing and stared at Sarah with wide eyes. She nearly laughed at his expression.

"Mm-hmm," Eamon said.

She continued. "He is actually a former member of the Antivan Crows, but has since left that organization and proved himself quite loyal and useful to our cause. He pulled me out of an icy river and saved Alistair from giant spiders."

"He also tried to kis--"

Sarah stopped Alistair's protest with a shake of her head. "I trust Zevran to this task. Furthermore, he is an elf, a very good-looking elf."

Alistair raised his eyebrows at her. A very good-looking elf?

Eamon nodded. "Yes, I see. You wish to send your friend to spy on Erlina."

"Indeed."

"And your friend has already agreed to this?"

"Not yet, but I'm sure Alistair will have little trouble convincing him. They're best friends Eamon, the very best of friends."

Maker, Alistair was going to have a long morning if this meeting was any indication of the meetings ahead.

Eamon snapped his fingers. "Of course! The Alienage! There has been an uprising in the Denerim Alienage these past few weeks. Rumors have it that a noble's son tried taking advantage of some of the women--"

Sarah nodded. "Vaughn. He's still locked in Howe's prison. Or so he was when I left there."

Eamon started pacing again.

Alistair sat down, putting his elbow on the arm of the chair and burying his forehead in his hand. "We're going to the Alienage aren't we?"

"Alistair!" Sarah said tersely. "Stop acting so insolent. Sit up."

Why in Androste's blood was she raising her voice at him?

Eamon kept from looking at them, but he was smirking. "Um, yes, I'm afraid. Perhaps, my lady, you should not go. Send Alistair with some of your other companions."

"No," they both said at once.

Sarah took another sip of water. "Wynne said I should be able to get up and around by tomorrow. We can go to the Alienage then. Together."

Eamon eyed her skeptically. "You'll be leaving tomorrow? But the rumors say a plague has broken out there; that elves are disappearing in rapidly increasing numbers."

Sarah squared her shoulders. "So you suggest I send someone else to fight my battles?"

Silence filtered through the air. Eamon cleared his throat, realizing that he had not left his estate since with the confrontation with Loghain, that Sarah had not rested until this morning, when injuries forced her to stay in bed.

He bowed his head. "I did not mean that, my lady. I simply was pointing out that you are injured and should not endanger your health further."

"Eamon. I am a Grey Warden. I do not contract illnesses, and I heal very quickly. I will not send others into danger that I would not go into myself. Tomorrow, we shall visit the Alienage and see if there is any hope of finding proof of Loghian's treason."

The arl bowed his head again. "As you wish. I think that is all we needed to discuss this morning. I shall let you get back to resting, my lady."

Eamon left the room and Sarah released a long sigh of relief.

Alistair stood over the bed, clenching his fists and staring at her. "Why did you talk to me like that? I am not a child!"

She looked up. "I-I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." She watched his face carefully, looking for an indication that his sudden anger was waning. She saw no change. "You can't sass Eamon like that. If you do, he _will_ call you a child."

Alistair waved his arms. "You did as much when you ordered me to sit up!" He leaned closer to her

She flinched; her hands and shoulders trembled. She cowered against the headboard. "Yes, you are right. I'm sorry…"

Instantly, he settled into the chair beside her, taking her trembling hand in his own. "No, no, no," he said softly. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. Please stop looking at me like that."

Her eyes narrowed and watered. "You scared me Alistair, you had your fists in the air and—and—and it was like in the dungeon—when they--"

Alistair could literally feel his heart crack at the sound of her frightened voice. He cradled her cheek. "I would never, ever hurt you, no matter how angry I was. Don't you know that?"

She nodded her head against his palm. "I was so frightened, when they took me."

"I know," he said softly. "I felt it." He shook his head. "I-you shouldn't expect to come out of something like that with only physical scars. It must have been…awful."

"Ah-hem."

Both the Wardens directed their attention at the doorway, where Zevran was leaning. Alistair dropped his hand from her face, and she let go of his hand.

Sarah sloppily swiped her left hand across her face. "Zev…"

He took a few steps toward the bed, glancing from her broken arm, to her face, to her hair. A look of shock took over his expression. He backed away from the bed. "I-I-I-have to go," he stammered frantically before sprinting out of the room.

"Does it look that bad?" she whispered before bursting into tears again.

"No, of course not," replied Alistair. "There's obviously something wrong with Zevran, and it has nothing to do with your hair."

She sniffed. He held her as more tears streamed down her face.

She felt a right fool for crying so much. Nearly an entire year trekking across Ferelden, and she couldn't get over a bad haircut. She tried pushing the images of armed guards beating her out of her mind, but the entire night replayed over and over in her head. There was no escaping it.

Alistair was scared to death, her fear seemed to drape over him, and all he could think to do was let her cry, as much as she needed.


	77. Coping, Healing

_AN: Darkness and intensity below, but also touching condolences. Brace yourself._

**CHAPTER 76**

**DAY 3**

**Third meeting.**

Riordin was thankful for this opportunity. It seemed getting some time with the junior Wardens was a rarity, given that one of them was to be king and the other had barely escaped death at the hands of Ferelden palace guards. Never in all his experience with the Grey Wardens had he dealt with such complicated and dramatic events. Sure, there was danger in fighting darkspawn, but the troubles of his homeland and his fellow Wardens seemed to multiply as the days passed. From what he could gather, Sarah was the only one of Duncan's final recruits to have survived the Joining, and she and Alistair alone were able to escape Ostagar. How exactly, Riordin did not know. Somehow, the young recruits had cashed in on all of the Grey Warden Ferelden treaties, including the evasive Dalish. For this, Riordin was grateful, and assumed that Sarah and Alistair were more informed than most junior recruits. He was further impressed that the two of them were able to complete all these tasks while the government had outlawed Wardens once again. Even Riordin himself was captured by Howe. Indeed, when Sarah sent Riordin to the Arl of Redcliffe's estate, the senior Warden was more than a little hesitant to follow through on her instructions; he did not want to be taken hostage again, not when he could feel the darkspawn horde looming so close to the heart of the nation.

While many parts of Riordin was impressed, others were vexed and cautious. Grey Wardens, as a rule, did not involve themselves in governmental affairs, and made every attempt to remain neutral. This was not the case today, apparently. Alistair was to become king. A Grey Warden becoming king. And Sarah, formerly a teryn's daughter, was to rule beside him. So, they had already decided to leave the archdemon up to him. Yes, that seemed fitting. He was the senior Warden, after all. In fact, he only wanted out of his cell to see that foul beast fall to the ground. Yet, much remained to be discussed.

A page ushered Riordin into the room, and the sight he found upon entering troubled him. Alistair was pacing alongside the foot of the bed, while Sarah was curled into a ball under the covers, her face red and her eyes staring blankly at the wall across from her. Immediately, Riordin shut the door. He had seen that empty look before, and in men older and sterner than the female Warden. Why Riordin had not seen this coming, he was not sure. It seemed the young recruits were not as battle hardy as he'd assumed.

Upon hearing Riordin shut the door, Alistair looked up and walked toward his brother. He whispered, "Riordin, she's…"

Riordin placed a comforting hand on Alistair's shoulder. "Yes, I know, Alistair." Riordin locked the door. He pulled Alistair to the corner of the room and continued their hushed conversation. "She's suffering from battle fatigue."

"Battle fatigue…that doesn't sound much like her. Wait, what's battle fatigue?"

Riordin sighed. "When someone goes through a traumatic experience, sometimes it changes them, or they have trouble coping with it." He glanced at Sarah who had not moved since he arrived.

"What exactly does that mean?"

Riordin watched Alistair's expression closely. Clearly he cared deeply for Sarah and was beginning to panic. Riordin chose his words carefully. "She…feels safe now. She's aware of her surroundings, and she trusts you. But…part of her is reliving her capture, over and over. To her mind, it's as if it's happening again and again, and she can't stop it."

Alistair looked down and covered his face with one hand. "I did that to her. I yelled at her—for something stupid—and ever since then, she's had that _look_."

Riordin shook his head. "Don't blame yourself. Perhaps…you reminded her of the experience, but, if it wasn't you, it would be something else. Be thankful it happened here, where we can do something about it."

"Do something about it?"

Riordin nodded. "Only part of her is reliving the experience. We have to let all of her relive it; we have to make her tell us about it so that her mind can start to heal."

Alistair shook his head. "No, no, I will not do that to her."

Riordin stepped back and looked down at the Templar. "If you won't, then I will do it on my own. With or without your help, it must be done."

Alistair was at a loss. He could not bear the thought of watching her suffer more than she already had. Riordin wanted to make her _relive_ the experience that Alistair had so carefully avoided asking her about? Now Riordin was going to force it out of her?

Riordin sensed and assessed the pain on Alistair's face. "Alistair. For a moment, you have to stop thinking of her as your fiance. She is a Grey Warden. Do you want her running into battle with that look in her eyes? Defenseless? Lost beyond reason? Of course, you don't."

"If Duncan were here--"

"If Duncan were here, he'd be telling you the same thing I am."

Alistair closed his eyes. Riordin incorrectly assumed what Alistair was going to say. If Duncan were here and Alistair gone, none of this would have happened in the first place. She would be healthy and strong. Affairs of the state would not be keeping them from fighting the approaching horde. The guilt piled onto the ex-Templar. How was he to lead a nation when he could not even care for Sarah? Why did people ask so much of him when he was clearly destined to fail?

"Alistair?" Riordin prodded.

"What do we do?" he asked softly.

"Go to your healer and ask her for some Deep Mushroom, an acid flask, and diluted sleeping serum. _Diluted_ sleeping serum."

"You're going to…?"

Riordin nodded. "Force her to hallucinate. Yes."

Alistair walked quickly out of the room. Riordin approached the bed slowly, nonthreateningly. In a soothing voice her urged her from under the covers. "Warden," he addressed her. "You need to get out of bed. Sit yourself in that chair. No harm will come to you."

The elder Warden cradled her elbow and led her slowly onto the chair by the bed. Her eyes stared forward, as if she were looking through him. Once she was seated, her legs twitched nervously, her mouth pulled into an anxious grimace.

"Riordin?" she mumbled.

"Yes, Warden."

"They're coming," she whispered.

"We will make them disapear. In time, they will go away."

Alistair returned, Wynne following close behind him. He tried to approach Sarah on the chair, but Riordin gently pushed him back. Alistair leaned against the opposing wall, in Sarah's line of sight, but she made no indication of noticing him.

Wynne placed her arm on Riordin's shoulder. "Is it--?"

"Yes, I'm afraid."

Wynne nodded. "I have the potion here. With your leave, I would like to stay--" she glanced at Alistair and lowered her voice. "Should things take a bad turn."

Riordin returned her nod. Sometimes, the visions were so strong that victims would thrash themselves around the room, their minds convinced pain was unavoidable and necessary. "Though, I hope it will not come to that."

"As do I," replied the mage.

Riordin turned to Alistair. "You don't have to stay," he said gently.

Alistair shook his head. "What she went through…the least I can do is stay."

"Very well." The senior Warden took the flask from Wynne. He cupped Sarah's chin and slowly poured the liquid into her mouth. She swallowed slowly, blinking a few times, but otherwise her expression was unchanged. Riordin gestured for Wynne to stand aloft on the bed. She complied, balancing herself against one of the tall bedposts. Riordin himself took a few steps back and sat on the floor in front of Sarah.

She blinked a few times, then she gripped her kneecaps with both hands, seeming to forget her broken arm was in a cast. Alistair looked on worriedly. He placed one clenched fist under his chin and forced himself to watch.

Riordin began. "Where are you Warden?"

In her clear even voice Sarah answered. "_The_ _palace. Anora is gone. Zev runs away, Morrigan and Sten follow him_."

"Who else is with you?"

"_N-n-n-no one. Ser Cauthrien and her guards. She orders them to take me. Take me away. I am taken, their gloved hands grip my arms._"

"Do you go with them?"

She nods. "_I do. It is the only way to save them_."

"What happens next?"

"I_-I-walk with them, but they are moving too fast. My feet start to drag. Behind me, someone laughs. I try to walk, to stand. My feet are lifted from the ground. I can't move_."

"Where do they take you?"

"_The fort, Fort Draken. The prison_." She started to cry. Alistair sprang forward, but Riordin pushed him back.

Riordin continued. "What did they do next?"

"_My armor. They take my armor. There are at least 5 of them, maybe more. They laugh at me. I can't see their faces. Then…my shirt and my pants, my boots and stockings_." Her voice hitched and she shook her head. "_No, I can't! I want out_!"

Alistair sank to the floor. He pulled his knees in front of him and pushed his hands against the cold stone beneath him.

Riordin continued. "No, not yet. What did they do?"

"_They—they—they hold me down. Fists, from everywhere. Against my head, arms, legs, stomach, chest, back. Somebody steps on my arm and I hear a loud crack. OOOOOH!_" she screamed in pain.

Alistair's breath left his body. Surely he would die in this moment, this was too much to bear.

Riordin continued "What happened next?"

Her voice sank.

"'_Stop crying, bitch!_'

'_Hey, boys, isn't this one a lady? I bet she's still a virgin. A lady virgin_.'

Alistair convulsed. His heart pounded loudly. Leliana said they didn't…

Sarah continued. "_They_ _laugh at me. I try to break free, but there are hands all over my body. All I can see are their helmets, looming over me_." She gasped. "_NOOOOOO!"_ she screamed. "_I_ _can't see his face, he takes off his bracers. He laughs. He kicks my legs apart--_"

" '_Guards! Stop this instant_!'

" '_We were only…_'

"_Ser Cauthrien. She stops them. Bless Androste, she's there. She lifts me into the cell, but my head hits the bar_." Sarah took her hand and clutched the back of her head. "_I'm dizzy…I can't see_."

Riordin took a deep breath. "What happens next?"

Sarah's face softened and she stopped crying. "_Alistair. I see Alistair. He saves me. My love_!" She stood and reached out her arms.

Alistair leaped up from the floor and shoved Riordin to the side. He grabbed Sarah's trembling body and hugged her with all the force he dared to exert.

Wynne glanced at Riordin, who gave her a brief nod. The healer pulled mana from the room and sprayed a mist over the junior Wardens.

Sarah blinked furiously. She looked at Alistair, sliding her hand against his cheek. She smiled. "You saved me."

Riordin rose from the floor. "No more meetings today. I will speak with Eamon. The Landsmeet must be pushed back." He helped Wynne down from the bed.

"I will accompany you, Riordin."

He nodded. "Alistair, keep her here. Do not, do not speak of anything…unseemly. Give her time."

Alistair nodded, keeping his arms wrapped around her. "Never again. Never again," he whispered.

Riordin opened the bedroom door and closed it quickly behind him. Before he could take another step forward, Wynne wrapped her consoling arms around his shoulders. Both the old mage and the aged Grey Warden sobbed in each other's arms, each saying a thankful prayer to the Maker.


	78. The Junior Warden and the New Recruit

_AN: Not the best chapter ever, but I needed to write something happy._

**CHAPTER 77**

**DAY 3 (Nightfall)**

By that night, her arm had healed. She suspected Wynne had hastened the heeling process out of pity, for Sarah could feel the heightened presence of magic in her veins. Her arm was weak, still, but mobile and free of pain. She did not remember reliving her capture, but the memory, though painful, was no longer controlling her. She felt relieved, if confused. Each time she looked at Alistair, his heartbreaking expression nearly brought her to tears. Riordin ordered Eamon to push back the Landsmeet another two days, and with much hesitation and carefully worded messages, the arl complied. Riordin then took on the role of guardian to the young Wardens, warning the staff to keep away any visitors, from within or without of the castle.

Night came, sooner than she expected, and they changed for bed, each discreetly carrying clothes to the washroom in turn, as if the morning's nakedness was a dream. They laid in bed, facing each other, and for once, Alistair did not hold her. He was silent, aside from whispered apologies and promises of constant protection. She wondered if he would ever smile again.

She reached her recovering hand to his cheek, grazing his stubble and flitting her fingers across his skin. He covered her hand with his own and kissed her palm.

She had to pull him away from whatever darkness he was sinking into. She could not be without him, and she did not want to follow him there. "Alistair," she coaxed, "tell me a story. A happy story."

He blinked and looked away. "I don't know any happy stories."

She kept her hand on his face. "You know of one happy story, surely. Is there nothing happy in your mind worth telling? Something about a rose, or a stubborn but well-meaning maiden?"

He finally met her eyes, and his heart was slammed again with the look of utter devotion and trust that radiated from her gaze. His mouth formed a tiny smile, but his eyes remained dark.

"Yes," she said. "I think you know a story worth telling."

He sighed. She shifted closer to him and moved her hand from his cheek, down his arm, and gripped his hand.

"There once was this man—a handsome young man—who was camping with an order of elite Wardens. He had been part of the group for only seven months, but already they felt like family to this him--"

"A happy story, Alistair," she warned.

"Shush. This handsome young man, however, was often the punchline in their jokes for many reasons, probably because he was the youngest and the most naïve. He was also charged with educating and reigning in the order's newest recruits. Often he was not the one to meet the recruits until they were vetted by his mentor, but, alas, he had to put up with all of them."

"That poor, handsome man."

"The young man had learned to keep these recruits at arms length because, well, because before joining the order some of them had a tendency to die."

"Mmmm…happy…"

"Shhh. One day, however, when the young man was camping with his order, a new recruit came along and surprised him."

"Oh?"

"Admittedly, the first thing he noticed was that the recruit was, in fact, a woman. The young man, so surprised was he to speak to a woman who wasn't in a chantry robe—he had grown up in the chantry, you see—he forgot to remind himself to keep his wits about him."

"So what did he do?"

"Well, Maker help him, instead of introducing himself properly, he lost all tact and blurted, 'You're a woman.'

She giggled. "What tipped him off?"

"He was a man, after all, men tend to notice these things. Anyhow, after the rather awkward exchange, she introduced herself, and even curtsied before him. Sadly, the handsome young man laughed at her, for he did not realize she was noble and he was quite unused to such manners. She seemed insulted, and rightfully so, and the silly man rubbed the back of his head and tried to think of something clever to say. However, before he could formulate a thought, she began asking him questions about his order, his mentor, and even himself. Before he knew it, they were walking through camp together and she had him telling her his life story and almost convinced him to divulge the secrets of the order before she had even been initiated."

"What a clever girl! Why, I wonder, was this handsome young man taken in so easily by her?"

"In all honesty, it was her eyes. She was pretty enough, he found her beautiful, in fact, but when his eyes first met hers, he felt a sort of magnetism drawing them together. It was as if he had no say in the matter and had to keep looking for her eyes again."

"What a silly man. Eyes! Of all things!"

"Indeed. He was not a well-traveled or wordly wise man, but he knew, somewhere deep inside, that there was not another pair of eyes like those in the world. He was determined to keep them for as long as she allowed him to."

"Dare I ask, was she very nice to him? Considering that he followed her around the camp?"

"Well, he didn't follow her exactly, it was more like she led him and did not give him a chance to leave. You see, this wonderful woman, for all her politeness and courtesy, was quite sad. She feared being alone, and after the gawking stares and stand-offish comments from her fellow recruits, she found a bit of peace striding alongside the awkard, but endearing young man. She wanted to keep him nearby, if only as a distraction.

"The young man, though not quite articulate or sophisticated, felt protective of his new charge, for she was small. He doubted a few times whether she were really the right sort of recruit for his order, for he had not heard of many women joining it. And those who did were quite ugly. She, however, was the pinnacle of grace and nobility. To the young man, it seemed, she would break easily."

"Surely, she was not so delicate as that."

"No, not actually, but the young man did not realize it. However, what this lady lacked in size, she made up for in demeanor. When her fellow recruits, both strapping lads, but not as handsome as the young man--"

"Of course not."

"Of course. These fellow recruits complained once too much, and she quickly silenced their ramblings with a mini-lecture on bravery and duty. Although the young man was not watching her when she said this to her compatriots, he smiled, for when the word _duty_ was spoken, he was quick to reply. After the lady's outburst, the two men unofficially elected her leader, and to the young man's surprise, she took on the task willingly. He did not want to admit it, but he was quickly becoming attached."

"Oh, how awful! What happened next?"

"Well, the young man directed them into the forest, where the recruits were supposed to complete part of their initiation. The woman stepped lightly on the grass, displaying a grace the young man had not noticed before. However, as the group was quickly attacked by the dreaded darkspawn, the young man's doubts were confirmed when the young lady screamed and ran behind the him, for he held a Templar shield in front of them."

"I did n—she did not run away!"

"I'm afraid she did, but it was the last time she did anything so foolish. Well, that day, at least. After that first attack, she really took charge. She asked the young man to scout ahead, and she arranged the men in carefully constructed battle stances, so that the next time darkspawn attacked, the group was ready."

"What did he think of her then?"

"Well, he was not quite sure what to think. When they returned to the camp and his mentor, the young man reported their events, and found himself speaking quite highly of the woman, so highly in fact that his mentor chided him for getting attached."

"So…what did the young man do?"

"Well, as the days passed, some rather unhappy events occurred, but at every turn, the man found himself more and more enamored with the young woman."

"Enamored?"

"Yes, enamored, even through tragedy, he found himself happy, for he did not know it yet, but he was falling in love with the most beautiful woman in all of Thedas."

"What a wonderful story!"

Alistair sighed. Sarah noticed he was beaming beside her, the memories of their first meeting reminded him to find happiness in the darkness.

"Alistair," she whispered. "We're going to have a happy ending."

Finally, he took her into his arms, and she nestled her head in the comfortable spot between his shoulder and his chest, and draped her arm across his chest. They both felt at home.


	79. The Long Night

_AN: Slightly dirty, but not too much. Our Wardens are too innocent to know what to do with themselves, sometimes. Sigh. Also, special credit to FullMetalScyth, who offered a few suggestions that found a way into this chapter. And, apparently, I have been spelling "Riordan" incorrectly. Many apologies and thanks to the anonymous reviewer who pointed that out to me. And commence!_

_

* * *

_**CHAPTER 78  
DAY 4 (A few hours before dawn)**

Sarah eyelids fluttered open and she stared into the darkness around her. She felt Alistair's body heat draping around them. For some reason, one her legs was trapped between both of his. Her thigh rested against his thin pants that housed a pulsing erection. He moaned beside her, but didn't stir. She could barely see his face, but his eyes were still closed and his face relaxed.

"My queen…" he murmured.

Sarah, surprised and slightly frightened, scurried away from him. He was having a…sex dream…about Queen Anora.

Alistair jumped, Sarah's swift movements disturbing his slumber. He glanced at her; she was cowering on the edge of the bed. So embarrassed was he, he grabbed a pillow to cover himself, sprinted to the washroom, and locked the door.

Sarah tugged on her short hair. Queen Anora, her flowing gold locks, shiny, wavy hair. Her slim, delicate figure, pale skin, surely void of any ugly scars or dark bruises. Yes, of course. Sarah had been so distant, too frail, too damaged. He dreamed of pleasure elsewhere. Sarah crawled out from under the covers and pulled on her robe, securing it tightly around her and assuring the collar and sleeves covered her bruises entirely. She crept up to the washroom. The sound of Alistair's heavy breathing pilfered through the locked door. What in Maker's name was he doing in there?

This was more disturbing than any darkspawn raid. Sarah ran from the room and into the center common room of the estate. She leaned against a pillar and tried to control her frantic and worrisome heart rate. Just then, someone else ambled through the hallway, a man wearing trousers and carrying boots and clothing in his hands. Sarah saw his unclad feet first, as he walked into the firelight from the open room. Then his pants, his naked torso, and finally his angular face and blond hair.

Zevran stopped in his tracks. "Tesoro?"

"Zevran?"

"What are you doing out of bed?"

"I-I-I—No, what are _you_ doing out of bed?"

He continued to approach her, and the sight of his uncovered chest, arms, and stomach made her blush. She stared at him in a way similar to how Sten studied his paintings. Zevran was not attractive to her, exactly, but there was something intriguingly artistic about his lithe flexible muscles moving as he inhaled and exhaled evenly.

He stopped a couple of feet away from her, sinking into his back leg and shifting his belongings to one hand holding them against his hip. "I was with Erlina, as per your orders."

"But I didn't get a chance to ask--"

"Eamon told me. I tried to get back to your room, but Riordan sent me to Eamon instead."

"So did you..?"

He smirked. "Hmm, what are you asking? Are you asking me if I made the little elf scream my name in pleasure all the while discovering secrets about her mistress?"

Sarah's blushing intensified. "Zev," she said sternly.

"Well, sadly, we did not have to go very far before little Erlina told me Anora's plans for your Templar." He paused to ensure his words had flustered enough to soften the blow of the next bit of information. "Should you put her on the throne, she plans to execute any remaining heirs of King Maric."

"She what?!"

Zevran nodded. "So it is good you do not put her there, isn't it?"

She nodded, her blush erased by shock and horror.

Zevran chuckled. "Now, tesoro, you have not told me why you are out of bed despite your injuries."

Her blush returned. "I am getting better actually, despite the awful haircut." Androste's blood! Why was she complaining about her hair again? "And, Alistair…Alistair was having a good dream, a very good dream about Queen Anora, and he ran to the washroom and he…" her voice trailed. She was not exactly sure what Alistair was doing.

Zevran eyes sparkled. He doubled over in laughter, dropping his shoes and clothing onto the floor next to him. So naïve! So innocent! This fearless leader, this sacrificial caretaker, flummoxed so easily!

"Tesoro," he said lightly, "Why, in Thedas, would you think your Templar was dreaming of Anora?"

"He kept saying 'my queen,'" she answered curtly.

His merriment increased. "Little Warden! You are his queen, of course. Not Anora!"

She blushed more, her ears were burning, but she finally smiled. "Me? Thinking of me made him do…whatever it was he was doing?" It had been so long since she and Alistair had lain together, she forgot what it felt like to be desired in such a way.

Zevran's laughter dissipated, a little. "Whatever he was doing?"

She pulled the collar of her robe over her face. "He ran to the washroom…and I heard him breathing heavily…like when we…" Oh this was too embarrassing. Why wasn't she running away?

Zevran smirked. "He was protecting you, my dear. From himself. His urges drove him away so that he wouldn't…take you…in your weakened state."

She lowered the collar. "Oh." She paused, scolding herself for asking but unable to stifle her curiosity. "What was he doing then? Why did he lock the door?"

Zevran smiled at her. "Perhaps, my tesoro, you should ask someone who will not continue making you blush so furiously. Maybe Morrigan or Leliana, perhaps? Your mother maybe?" he joked.

She stared at the floor. "My mother is dead."

Zevran picked up his clothes, keeping himself busy folding them and pulling on his boots. "Yes, well, you shouldn't ask me anyway, tesoro." He swiftly left, and Sarah wondered how much more there was in the world that she did not know about.

* * *

Alistair, feeling ashamed, dirty (not in a good way), embarrassed, and physically relieved, started running bathwater for himself. Perhaps if he spent long enough in the washroom, she would fall asleep and forget any of this ever happened. He had scared her. Again. And now, for the first time since meeting her, he had reverted to adolescent behavior, entering the Fade and dreaming dirty (in a good way) thoughts about the two of them tumbling around on a giant bed in a large, beautiful bedchamber, king and queen of Ferelden. And it did not stop when he woke up. No, instead of bringing himself under control, he ran away and completed the fantasy alone. Oh, she was so tempting, in every way, but so fragile. Surely not ready for intimacy after…after that horrifying night in Fort Drakon. Maker, he loved her so much, and the primary mode of expression had been denied him for days. Days that kept them apart for many reasons, not the least of which was her battered and bruised body, which, though he would not tell her, he was too scared to touch with any ease or comfort.

* * *

Zevran, still smirking, stopped by Leliana's room and sent the bard to check on their leader. Leliana found Sarah where Zevran had left her. Leliana took Sarah by the hand and led her back to her own room.

Upon walking through the doorway, Sarah was overwhelmed with the pleasant aroma of flowers and some sort of sweetness. Sarah sighed. So this is what a normal woman's room smelled like. Not of armor polish and poisons, as Sarah's own room, with or without Alistair in it. The room was ablaze, a strong fire and many torches still alight around the walls.

Leliana sat Sarah at the vanity and began brushing the leader's short hair.

"Tell me, dear, what's happened to Alistair?"

"I--" Sarah shook her head, she did not want to go through this again.

Leliana smiled at Sarah through the mirror. She pat a consoling hand on Sarah's shoulder. "Yes, I know. Boy will be boys."

Zevran was right, this was much easier with Leliana. "Lil…what…what was he doing?"

Leliana raised her eyebrows. "Truly? You do not know?"

Sarah shook her head again.

Without flinching or making any sort of movement to indicate she was disgusted or surprised, without _laughing, _Leliana explained to the innocent Grey Warden how her Templar was pleasuring himself in the washroom.

"H-h-he…do all men do that?"

Leliana nodded. She reached into the drawer of her vanity and took out a small bottle of lovely-smelling gel. She massaged the concoction into Sarah's hair. After a moment she spoke. "And women, too."

"Women? But how?" Sarah was blushing. Why had Nan and Mother not told her of these things? She suddenly regretted not keeping a lady's maid at Highever, someone who could have explained these things to Sarah before she had grown too old to ask such ridiculously naïve questions.

Leliana continued styling Sarah's hair, explaining, with a careful matter-of-fact voice, all the strange and intriguing parts of men and women, a subject Lady Cousland found herself knowing less about than she realized.

While Sarah continued to blush, she also became a little excited. "So many possibilities," she mused.

Leliana spun Sarah around and sat next to her. The bard widened her eyes. "You and Alistair haven't done anything like that?"

Sarah shook her head.

"What then, have you done, dear?"

Sarah shrugged. "We just sort of…kiss, and…he kind of does the rest."

"You've never…taken charge?"

Sarah blushed, remembering their last night together at camp, when she had tried to touch him, when she had tried to take charge. "No."

Leliana fluffed Sarah's hair again. "Well, perhaps when you're fully mended, you can start taking some of that battle prowess and bring it to the bedroom."

The bard spun Sarah around again and Sarah gasped. "My hair!" she exclaimed.

Leliana laughed. "You like it then?"

Sarah touched her brown hair carefully, not wanting to mess up the cosmetic miracle Leliana had worked. The Orlesian had draped bangs across Sarah's forehead, and they angled from the right to the left. The top of her hair was parted differently, zig-zagging its way along her scalp. Sarah was taken in by her own reflection. Instead of looking like the man-child she imagined this awful haircut had transformed her to, she looked like a stylish Orlesian socialite.

"I love it," she breathed.

Leliana gave a little hop. "Good. Now, you go back to your Templar and give him a good talking to. But don't let him mess up your hair. If you come visit me each morning, I'll be glad to fix it for you again."

Sarah jumped from her seat and hugged her friend tightly, realizing some strength was returning to her right arm. "Thank you, Lil! Thank you so much!"

Leliana laughed. "Go, you rascal. He'll surely tear himself to pieces when he finds out you left your room."

Sarah ran away, her feet silently grazing the stone hallway as she toyed with her bangs. How lucky she was to have such good friends.

* * *

_Author's end note: Yeah, the indoor plumbing thing may seem out of place and time, but I figured that since the ancient Romans had indoor plumbing and a city sewage system, that the brilliant smiths of Ferelden could too. But I'm no historian, so complain if you wish. : )._


	80. The Long Templar, teehee

_AN: Very dirty. What better way to pull a Templar out of despair? I wrote this while listening to Gossip's "Vertical Rhythm." In a few paragraphs you'll see why that title makes me giggle._

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* * *

  
_

**CHAPTER 79**

**DAY 4 (Nearly dawn)**

Alistair's dreamy moan echoed in Sarah's mind as she walked through the corridors. _She_ made _him_ sound like _that_? Whenever they made love, Alistair focused so much on watching her, making sure they could see each other, that Sarah had never wondered if there was another way of doing things. The thought that more…_interesting_…_arrangements_ could work made her feel giggly and silly. She loved Alistair, she could lay with him all day if the darkspawn and Arl Eamon would let her, but, Maker, they had so little time together, so few opportunities to explore. How much time did they have left now? Two days? Three? And yet, she was still weary, her body tired and her mind filled with unease, and dread. Did she not—did they not deserve a distraction? A lovely, purely sensual distraction? Well, Alistair did, surely. He needed an escape, a diversion. And Sarah needed power.

She clenched and unclenched her fists as she walked back to their room. Her right hand still felt weak, probably unable to grip anything heavier than a dagger. But her left hand, due to her own diligent determination and its extra workload the past two days, felt strong. Her fingers trembled, thinking of what she was about to do. Was she really this brave? She clasped and unclasped her hands together, warming them, making blood flow into her fingertips, like she did during a day's long journey and her appendages had become restless from lack of activity. She spied her stubby fingernails, and instead of being disgusted with her lack of discipline, she loved the way each nail shadowed its fingertip, how wise and practical it was to have short nails, how much more dexterous it made her nimble hands.

The safest way of doing this, the surest way to guarantee she would follow through was to treat it just like a battle. She was in charge, of herself and her attributes. She knew _knew_, she could not let herself, let her body go beyond the grasp of her control. It would require a practiced restraint, a distancing glare. No, her muscles, her skin, the very core of her was still too dark to experience delight just yet, too pained and broken to be physically strained. She had to wait. But, she did not want to make him wait with her. His self-inflicted punishment, enclosed behind his dark eyes, pained him more than any blade ever could. She had to bring him back from the brink of destruction, while allowing herself to balance the chasm, giving herself a little more time to heal.

Yes, she could do this for him. His Templar discipline would become her own. The physical restraint he exercised in their early months of courtship would be her guide. She slipped silently into the room, locking the door behind her and wedging a chair against it. A sliver of light peaked through the window, dividing the disheveled bedsheets in half, across the bed, as if it were telling her to separate her mind from her body, her hands from her middle. She ruffled her light hair, feeling it fall pleasantly along her scalp, no longer an ugly vestige of her capture, but rather a powerful reminder of her own will to survive, to live, to be happy, to love.

She took a single tool from her lock-picking kit. Within seconds, she heard the satisfying click of the washroom door submitting to her control. She untied her robe, letting it fall to the floor, her bruised arms and chest exposed, the light gown clinging to her body, a few other abrasions showing through the pale fabric. She licked her lips, squared her shoulders, and took a deep, quivering breath. She pushed her palms against the wooden door and shoved it.

Slam! The door cascaded across the stone floor and crashed into the wall. His head jerked towards the noise, leaving its perch of his cradling hand. Good, he was already in the bathwater, she would not have to solve the problem of too much friction.

"What are--" his voice caught in his throat as she sauntered to him, moving freely, hands open at her sides.

She said nothing. She pushed his shoulders down, forcing his knees to bend upward as more of him sank into the warm water. She pressed her right hand against the back of his head and slammed her lips onto his, her left hand dipped into the water, its fingers dancing along his chest.

He moaned. Already. Any doubt of her power floated away, following his guttural voice into the air. His teeth bit her bottom lip. She pulled away just far enough so that their mouths no longer touched. She inhaled through her nose, exhaled slowly, forcing her rising temperature to leave her body with the hot air. She draped her arm around his shoulders and leaned on him as she knelt beside the bath. Her left hand roamed ever downward, and brushed against him. He was as strong—no stronger than he was when she left him an hour ago. His hands gripped the edge of the bath, knuckles white, his fingertips all but disappearing as he pushed them into the porcelin surface.

She watched her shadowy movements beneath the water's surface. Her fingers trembled as they traveled the unknown path, and they found him, aching for her, as if every nerve on his skin was begging to be touched. She wrapped him in her masterful grasp and the tremble left her fingers and sank into him.

Her name, at first spoken quickly, then slowly, repeated over and over, the sound of each letter ricocheting against the walls around her. He gasped. To her, it seemed he would faint were it not for the constant pulsing under her hand, and she hadn't even started moving it yet.

She loosened her grip slightly, and began the strange upward motion. She felt her own body desire to convulse in time with his. She was too close to him. She kept moving her left hand steadily, increasing the speed with each thrust. Her right arm left his shoulders and found his nearby hand, which she pried loose from the bath's edge. Their fingers interlocked and he squeezed her frail hand, and instead of being weakened, she felt his own strength flowing into her.

She moved faster, his moaning increased, grew louder.

Somewhere, between his screams and his gasps, he said, "Look at me."

She turned her head, her eyes pierced through him. In her submerged hand she felt him release. Her fingers loosened their grip slowly. They retread the path along his stomach, detouring along his abdomen, and finally resting on his chest.

She kissed him again, returning the light nip he had inflicted on her. He was breathless, sweating, droplets covered his face. She stood and took a few steps from the tub before turning her head to face him.

"That's what you get for having fun without me."

She left the room, re-locking the door and shutting it behind her. She picked her robe from off the floor and tied it tightly around her. Her entire body screamed for pleasure, but she ignored it. She found a wine bottle in her pack, uncorked it, and drank quickly. She slammed it on to the table and smiled at her accomplishment.

His queen, indeed.


	81. To sleep? Perchance to dream?

_AN: Yay, happy!_

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* * *

_**CHAPTER 80  
DAY 4 (Dawn)**

Surely it had been another dream. Surely what had just happened was an unattainable fantasy, something his body kept reliving, but something too exquisite to be real. It seemed to take hours before he was able to breathe again, before his skin stopped tingling, before his heart slowed to its normal rhythm. There was no way a teryn's daughter knew how to do _that_, no way his cute little Warden, with whom he had spent many nights in satisfying ecstasy, could manage to make his body respond in ways his mind never thought possible.

Yes, it was a dream. He had fallen asleep in the bath. Of course.

He pressed his palms against the tub's edge and stood. Maker, he was still trembling. It was as if his strength had left him and all that remained was the memory—no, the _imagined_ memory of her touch, her lips, her hands, her fingertips.

Wynne. He had to get Wynne. Wynne _had_ to make Sarah better. He could not bear this any longer.

He stepped out of the bath, planting the heel of his foot on the floor. Then, he slipped and fell onto his bum. He cursed and stood up, moving more carefully. He found a towel, used it to dry off and wrap around himself. Tentatively, as if dreading the moment, he unlocked the door and turned the knob. He pulled the door open slowly. The morning light shone through the window. He studied the bed.

Yes, she was curled up on the edge, under the quilt, lying still. He had dreamed it all, and she was asleep. He tiptoed to the cupboard and chose the first outfit his hands came to, and draped the towel across the foot board of the bed. He dressed quickly, his fingers still fumbling with his movement, as if his body were still recovering from some unconquerable exertion while begging for it to happen again.

"Maker," he mumbled. He stumbled to the vanity and combed his hair quickly. He took one last glance at the bed, to ensure she was still asleep, and left the room.

Once in the corridor, he leaned against the wall, and took a few deep breaths. This is what being love felt like, he mused to himself. His body was catching up with his heart, the physical manifestations of his love growing out of some repressed fantasy. Darkspawn, kingship, politics, blight, Eamon, lecherous elves, meddling mages; they were all fading away. There was only her, only him, forever connected in this uncontrollable, swirling vortex of—

"Alistair?"

He rose from the wall and looked at the voice. "Teagan? When did you get here?"

Teagan walked forward, embracing his cousin in a quick hug. "I got word the Landsmeet had been pushed back," he explained. "And that Sarah had been taken prisoner. Eamon asked me to…well he asked me to come for you, actually."

Alistair rubbed the back of his head. "For me? Why?"

Teagan chuckled. "For the Landsmeet, I suppose, to speak on your behalf."

"Oh. Right." Alistair shuffled nervously. How much did Teagan plan on talking about this early in the morning? Alistair had things to take care of.

"I also hear congratulations are in order," Teagan commented, raising his eyebrows.

That did it. Alistair grinned. "Eamon told you then?"

Teagan mimicked Alistair's expression. "He did, but I have to say he wasn't nearly as happy about the engagement as I am."

"Yes, well…" Alistair trailed off and he stared at his feet.

Teagan raised a comforting hand to his friend's shoulder. "Who cares about heirs, Alistair? You're in love, that's what matters."

Alistair glanced up. "You really think so?"

Teagan nodded. "Of course."

Alistair sighed. "I wish you were the older brother and not Eamon," he joked.

Teagan chuckled again. "Yes, well, I came by to check on your fellow Warden, but…" Teagan's eyes glinted mischievously. "But, from the sounds of things, she seems to be faring quite well."

"S-s-sounds?" the Templar sputtered.

Teagan laughed again. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "My friend, I do not think I heard a man yell so loudly in all my life. It seems your fiance has many talents beyond the battlefield."

Alistair blushed profusely. His ears and cheeks burned. "Maker…you…you heard me? I thought it was all a dream…"

Teagan laughed. "A dream, Alistair? Then you have some vivid visits to the Fade!"

Just then, Sarah opened the bedroom door and poked her head through the small opening. "My love, will you get Wynne for me? I'm feeling a little, um, exerted," she smirked.

Oh, no. She wasn't asleep. She had heard everything. There had been no dream; it was real.

Alistair couldn't speak. He nodded, his face still flushed and his eyes wide.

She let out a little giggle before ducking back inside.

Teagan stifled another laugh. "Alistair, I believe your fiance needs tending to."

Alistair nodded. "Right."

"I'll be in Eamon's study, should you need any…advice." Teagan nodded and strolled away.

Alistair walked, no, he floated through the corridors to the elder mage's room. He knocked on her door. She answered.

"Alistair?"

"Sarah asked for you," he managed to say.

Wynne nodded. "Yes, I was headed there now." She ushered Alistair back from the doorway, closed her door, and led him down the hall. "You do know that Eamon spoke with me?"

Alistair shook his head.

"Well, he did. It seems that the Alienage has gotten worse, and he needs you—us—to go there today. I need to see if she is up for--"

"Strenuous activity?" he managed, though he was not kidding.

Wynne laughed. "All in good time, Alistair. She is ready, I think, or will be after the morning's treatment." Wynne lowered her voice to a whisper. "How is she coping with…with her…capture?"

The question snapped Alistair back to reality. "Wynne, Maker knows how, but she seems to be coping well. I mean, she remembers it, but…but it's as if she's resolved to let it go."

Wynne nodded. "That girl is as tough as ironbark. She's recovered so quickly, that I wonder if she's really all right."

Alistair returned her nod. "She is, last night, she was more worried about _me_ dealing with it than herself."

"Yes, that sounds like her."

Alistair smiled. "Yes, it does."

When they came to the room, Alistair opened the door for Wynne, but did not follow her in. Instead, he stood by the closed door and waited, as was the usual custom during Wynne's visits.

There was no screaming this time, not even an unpleasant grunt or groan. Instead, there was cheerful laughter and a little mixing of potions. It was not long before Wynne opened the door and left. Alistair slowly stepped into the room.

Sarah was already picking up her blades and rotating one in each hand. She caught his eye. "Hi there." she said grinning. "I've been okayed for the battlefield."

Alistair reached behind him to lock the door. Then he sprinted to her, and kissed her, hard and deep, his hands roaming across her back, his leg wedging between hers.

She dropped her blades and pushed his shoulders back. "Ser Templar, we have work to do. You've already had your fun this morning. Twice, in fact."

He held her face in his hands. "I love you," he breathed. "With every ounce of my body, with every part of my heart, with every thought in my mind."

She watched his eyes, his eyes were the key. The darkness was gone, her trick had worked.

"I love you, too," she answered softly. "But tonight. We can tonight. First, we have to save some elves and slander a teryn."

He dropped his arms. "Of course." He grabbed her hands. "But tell me…was it a dream? Or did you really…?"

She smiled. "No, it wasn't a dream. Should you be up for it, I can prove that to you later."

He nodded, his mouth agape.

She slapped his chest playfully. "Get your armor on, Ser Templar."

He nodded. "Your wish is my command."

She placed one hand on her hip. "I'm going to hold you to that, you know."

"I hope you do," he growled.

She giggled and threw his bracer to him.


	82. Playing the Queen

**CHAPTER 81**

**DAY 4 **

Erlina gawked at the leather armor-clad blond elf before her. Surely this was not the handsomely tattooed visiting house servant whom she had invited into her room last night. She stood by her lady and nervously twisted her hands. No, this wasn't right. He said he was Teagan's servant, not a companion to the Wardens. Yet, here he was, standing by the short-haired lady, his arms folded across his chest and a smirk on his face. Certainly not. The elf she was with last night had a goofy grin, not this masterful, smirking guise. How had a house servant obtained armor any how? Why was he spending time with the visiting Grey Warden?

"What is your proposal, then?" asked the Warden, shifting her weight towards the blond elf.

Erlina's lady answered. "If you agree to support me at the Landsmeet, I can promise you that the Grey Wardens will always be welcome in Ferelden. Perhaps I can grant you a stronghold so that you can re-establish your order."

"And what of Loghain? Should you be placed on the throne, what will you do with him?"

Erlina admired the Warden's voice. It was pleasant and endearing, not sharp like her mistress's. It seemed that the lady Warden would support her majesty. This was good. Should the two women strike an alliance, Erlina would not have to worry about the queen discovering Erlina had spent part of the evening with the blonde elf.

The lady Warden bowed her head. "Very well, your majesty. I will support you at the Landsmeet."

* * *

Sarah shut Anora's door behind her and breathed deeply. The excruciating meeting with the queen was a necessary task before the Landsmeet, but Sarah doubted her coercion skills against Anora. The woman who planned to kill Sarah's fiance. The woman who had no qualms about her father's desertion resulting in the death of her own husband. She had to go to the meeting without Alistair, of course, but not alone. She took Zevran so that he would keep her calm and so that he could tell her Anora's true intentions. It was also a nice bonus to watch Erlina get rather flustered when Zevran sauntered into the room.

Zevran followed Sarah away from Anora's chambers. They walked a few paces before discussing the meeting.

"Zev, are you sure what Erlina told you was right? You're not just trying to manipulate me, are you?"

"Tesoro," he teased, "you are a woman beyond manipulation. I know better than to toy with you."

"Oh."

Zevran took out a dagger and began spinning it in his hand. "So, you've agreed to support Anora. A bold move, considering she plans to murder your Templar."

Sarah sighed. "Yes, but as long as she thinks Alistair isn't a threat to her, she will support me at the Landsmeet. Eamon's told her of my influence with the other nobles. She must assume she has a better chance siding with us than with her father."

"I see."

"Zev…"

"Hmm?"

"How can people do that? Give up family, love, and Maker knows what else, for power? I don't understand it. Does it make those of us who care about those things weak? Would Anora be a better ruler than Alistair? You said Harrowmont was a worse choice than Behlen, but you also tell me Anora is a worse choice than Alistair. What's the difference? Will Alistair be a good king?"

"Those are a lot of questions."

"I have to make a lot of decisions."

"Yes, you do. Let me see if I can explain it, then. Anora wants to rule for herself alone. She's not so much interested in the title as she is interested in not letting anyone else have it. If I understand the history correctly, her father saved King Maric, right?"

"So the story goes."

"And Anora married Maric's son."

"Well, one of them."

"Obviously it was not for love. She feels no remorse at the death of Cailin, does not hold her father accountable for his actions that killed so many."

"But she said that Loghain would be punished, if not executed."

Zevran chuckled. "You think she would tell you of her plans to abdicate her father when she knows he killed all the other men in your order? Of course not. She's playing you, tesoro."

"Yes, she is."

"But, that is fine. You are playing her, too. And with a cunning assassin at your side, you're sure to win out in the end."

"There's one question you haven't answered."

"Oh?"

"Will Alistair be a good king?"

Zevran was quiet for a moment. "Tesoro, you of all people know that I and your Templar could not be more different from each other. Often, I think him a daft fool."

"I see…"

"But he isn't. He's a fool in love, to be sure. He loses his wits when he's around you."

Sarah blushed. She wondered if Zevran knew about her early morning escapade following their awkward discussion.

Zevran continued. "Alistair is a strong man. You know this as much as I do. There is one thing that tells me without a doubt that he will be a good king, a dutiful king, the best person to rule this nation."

Sarah waited, and Zevran did not continue. She waved her hand. "And? What is this one thing?"

Zevran stopped walking and turned to face his captor.

Sarah stopped as well.

Zevran took her hand lightly in his and met her eyes. "He was willing to give up the most important person in his life to save his country."

"Oh." Sarah slid her hand away from his gentle clutch and continued walking.

Zevran changed the subject. "I hear we're going to the Alienage, then."

Sarah smiled. "Well, I'm going to the Alienage with Alistair and Wynne, but I didn't know you were coming along." She paused. "I didn't think you'd want to…" She had thought of asking Zev to go with her, but she did not think the experience would be at all pleasant for him, considering he was born in an Antivan alienage and was subsequently _sold_ to the Crows.

"And why not?" he perked up. "That daft Templar of yours will cause nothing but trouble if I'm not there to save the two of you from each other."

"Are you sure you want to go? It could be very…ugly. Disheartening, even."

Zevran could not decide whether he should make a joke or say something inspiring. He went with the latter. His apology to her was long overdue. "Tesoro, after what happened to you…after what Morrigan, Sten, and I abandoned you to…that you can still smile and call me your friend convinces me there is not enough ugliness in the world to erase the happiness I feel when I'm with you."

"Zev," she said sternly.

"I mean that, strictly as a friend. Truly."

"Thank you."

He tapped his forefinger against his chin. "Although, I do wonder what sort of team we would have made in the bedroom. If Alistair's morning vocalizations are any indication, I would imagine your power when combined with mine would have been truly…scintillating."

"I--"

He chuckled. "Yes, tesoro, I heard. The entire castle could hear him. I trust he wasn't dreaming, was he?"

She shook her head, more prideful than embarrassed. "No, Zev, it was real. It was very real."

"Hmm, yes, I thought so."


	83. Hands

_AN: I acknowledge this isn't very fluid writing, because I had trouble making it through this scene. Alas, it is a necessary one. Thankfully, most of it is an in-game sequence, so hopefully you won't get too lost. Also, Teagan makes another awesome appearance!_

**CHAPTER 82**

**DAY 4: To the Alienage**

Finally. Sunlight. Unfiltered, glorious, yellow sunlight. The instant Sarah stepped through the castle doors, her every pore resigned itself to soaking in this natural warmth. It had been nearly two days since she'd last seen the outdoors. To a regular person, that may not feel like very long, but to the traveling Grey Warden, her isolation seemed to have lasted an eternity.

She sighed; the illuminating rays glinted off her freshly polished armor, armor that had been repaired and reformed by her Templar's expert hand, fitting her perfectly in every way, protecting her from the sloppy sword thrusts of enemies and enabling easy movement from her own limbs. It was as if the Maker were smiling on her in this moment, allowing all the events in her life collide to create this instant of relief and happiness.

Zevran stood one step behind her and laughed. "Tesoro, you'd think you'd been in that castle for years the way you are beaming right now."

A deep, cleansing breath. "Ah. My dear assassin, would you honor me with a friendly duel?"

Zevran smirked. "With pleasure." The rogues ran into the courtyard, polished blades flashing through the air, notes of their playful banter accenting a fast-paced dance between the two friends.

Bann Teagan left his perch on the nearby stairs, where he went unnoticed by the Crow and the Warden. He was clad in full armor, hoping to gain acceptance by the stern, short-haired leader. He watched the duel with great interest. The lithe soldiers moved as if in a choreographed waltz, each attack countered by a block that seamlessly led to another sequence of flowing, almost ethereal cuts through the air. Teagan, himself a warrior, was never quite able to understand the training of roguish tactics, though he admitted their necessity on the battlefield. Surely, though, these two specimens before him were of the highest caliber. He faintly remembered Sarah's competent but staccato fighting style during the onslaught at Redcliffe, and he was further impressed by her improvement. And after being beaten and injured as well. Truly, the fables of the famous Grey Wardens held some truth, for this display alone proved it.

"Teagan, are you staring at my fiance?"

Teagan turned his head to find Alistair standing next to him. "I was simply admiring _their_ combat skills, Alistair."

"All right. Wait. Is she not wearing her gloves. Maker…" Alistair jogged down the steps and onto the grass. Two days ago a broken arm and she was not wearing her gloves.

"Uncle!" Sarah shouted to Zevran, ending their playful bout.

Zevran chuckled. "That makes it..two Wardens, one Zevran."

Sarah ignored his comment and walked towards her Templar, her hands unshod and each gripping a light sword.

Alistair glanced at her hands, then he stared at them. How could she expect him to concentrate if he had to keep watching those fingers cling to the hilts of her swords? This was entirely unfair.

"You should put on your gloves," he ordered.

"Oh, I should? Hmmm…I don't know…" She sheathed her left sword and held her hand in front of her, pretending to examine it closely.

"Please," he said breathily.

She jumped. He was still recovering? From this morning?

"Ser Templar," she whispered, "Are my fair hands distracting you?"

He blushed and swallowed thickly. "My love…" he rasped.

She hopped. "Very well. I shall put on my gloves." She ran up the steps and snatched her gloves from a flowerpot, and slid them on quickly.

"Ah, Teagan! How are you?" she exclaimed, spying the bann atop the stairs.

He bowed. "Very good, my lady. And yourself?"

She laughed at him. "Teagan, call me Sarah, there is no need for such formality. But, I see that your are clothed in your armor. You have plans for leaving the estate today?"

He returned her laughter. "Very well. As for my attire, yes, I was rather hoping I could come along with you."

"Well, we're going to the Alienage. I can't imagine it will be very exciting…"

Teagan lowered his voice. "In all honesty my—er, Sarah—I need to get out of this castle. One more lecture from Eamon, and I'm going to stab myself in the foot."

She smiled and raised her hand to his shoulder. "Of course you can come along. But, I should warn you, Alistair is prone to jealousy and Zevran may steal all your silvers. Watch yourself."

"Indeed," he smiled.

Wynne was the last to join the group, and she brought with her a leather pack stuffed to the brim with various potions, foods, and supplies.

Sarah glared at the healer. "I thought you said I was all better."

Wynne nodded. "These aren't for you, dear. They're for the elves."

Sarah instantly felt very foolish. "Of course, Wynne. What a wonderful idea." She squeezed Wynne's hand and glanced at Teagan before bounding down the steps. "Let us go, my friends!" As the fair companions left Arl Eamon's grounds, grey rainclouds collected in the sky, and a mist began to fall.

By the time they reached the Alienage, the sky was all but dark and the mist had advanced to a steady rain. Sarah's carefully styled hair wilted against her scalp. Their every step left a print in the mud; boots grew heavy. The rain soaked their skin, rattled onto their blades, darkened their armor. The water did little to lessen the stench of rotting food, feces, and waste. All the buildings were shoved together haphazardly along a zig-zagging path. Many of the rooftops were rotting or sagging from age. Unstable scaffolding creaked as the wind blew against it.

Hopelessness. Elves. Living, breathing, souls decorated the ground like withering flowers, dying before her eyes. Was there nothing to be done? Surely there was a cure, something. Nearly crying, Sarah looked to Wynne, who briefly shook her head. Even the expert healer could not save them. Alistair wrapped his hand around hers, and they walked forward. Zevran twirled his daggers in defiance of the admonishing parchments that read, "Bearing arms is strictly prohibited; Elves who have swords will die upon them." Teagan remained silent and watchful, and thought of the peasants in his own village, wondering if they lived in such squalor and why he had never thought to look into it.

Wynne handed out food and poultices to each person they met. She could not fight their fevers or eradicate the viruses, but she could heal sore limbs and broken skin.

A loud scuffle broke out ahead of them, and the heroes trotted up to the fighting, but it was dispelled before any one could intervene. Some defeated-looking elves ran off while a haggard-looking human remained.

He groaned.

"What was that about?" Sarah demanded, taking note of the man's healthy physique and colorful complexion. Obviously he was not a denizen of the surroundings.

The man scratched his head. "I knew I shouldn't have cut through here. Bloody knife-ears…"

Zev stopped spinning his daggers and gripped them upright. Sarah glared at the man, but he stalked away before she could kick him in the groin.

An elf with and sweat-soaked hair and a dirt face elf ambled up to them.

"Spare a silver for a war veteran?" he begged.

"Where'd you get injured, soldier?" Sarah asked, having pity for the aimless wanderer.

"Ostagar," he announced. "Darkspawn took off half my foot."

Sarah reached into her changepurse, but Zevran rested a hand on her shoulder. He shook his head. "The elf is lying, my friend. Give him nothing."

The 'soldier' called her a cheap witch and spit on her feet. Sarah kicked the elf in the shin and he collapsed to the ground. Zevran squatted, scooped a hand into the elf's pockets, and pulled out a handful of silvers. Wynne afflicted the fallen with a painful, itchy rash along his arms and legs.

Teagan chuckled, breaking the dark silence. "Alistair, next time you go travelling, you must take me with you. You find the most delightful companions!"

They continued. Another notice. Two feral dogs. The corpse of a rabid dog, its blood slowly dissolving in the rainwater, no doubt draining into the denizens' drinking supply. Perhaps this was the source of the plague.

Sarah leaned into Alistair's shoulder. "You have to fix this."

He nodded, and kissed the top of her head. "We will."

She shook her head. "No, when the Blight is over, _you_ have to fix this."

"_We_ will."

"Maker," Teagan mumbled. He would not have believed these conditions if he were not seeing them with his own eyes. The images flooded his head so quickly that he became emotionally and mentally exhausted. The montage continued.

An open door flapped in the wind. They approached the small house, searching for survivors. The dark quarters were dank and empty. The place had been looted, all that was left were stray pieces of furniture and the odd scrap of filthy clothing.

Back outside. A crowd of elves. Tevintir mages guarding a building. A red-headed woman confronted the mage. Someone called her Shianni. She blamed the mages for the disappearance of other elves.

The mage claimed that the victims of the plague needed to be quarantined.

Sarah raised her eyebrows, her sardonic but playful voice bringing Teagan out of his dark revelry. "Oh, then I guess the ten elves we met on our way in just have the sniffles," she murmured. So unused to her humor, Teagan laughed while the others simply smiled darkly

She led her companions to stand between the mages and the group of elves.

"What's going on?" The elves looked past her and stared at Zevran, who continued to swirl his blades.

Shianni turned, glanced at Zev, then glared at Sarah. "What's wrong, shem, did you get bored and decide to come watch the elves die of plague? These foriegners say they're here to help with our outbreak of plague. Funny thing, though, all the people they 'help' disappear."

A blonde elf spoke up. "That's not true, and you know it, Shianni! Both my sisters got the Tevinter spell cast on them, and they're fine."

Shianni turned to the second elf. "Where's your niece, then? And my Uncle Cyrion? And Valendrian?"

Sarah glanced from Shianni to the mage. "If there's a plague, why are people on the street?"

Shianni answered. "These men from Tevinter say their magic will prevent people from catching it. But it doesn't work if you're already ill. So they set up a quarantine." She paused. "But many of the ones they quaranitine aren't sick. One of them," her voice cracked, "was our hahren, Valendrian. And I don't know what we're going to do if we don't get him back."

Sarah nodded. "I'll try talking to the healers." She took a step forward.

Shianni grabbed Sarah's arm. "Those guards mean business."

Sarah nodded. "So do we."

Sarah ordered Wynne and Zevran to stay with Shianni, while she, Alistair, and Teagan appraoched the mages. They spoke to Healer Veras, who asked them to stand back.

Sarah batted her eyelashes and feigned surprise. "There's a plague here?" Playing dumb was the best way to catch these 'healers' in a lie.

He ignored her advances and stared ahead. "For your own safety, we must ask you to leave now."

Sarah could get no more out of the mages, so she led them to met Zev and Wynne behind the crowd.

"Tesoro," Zevran said, twirling a dagger. He stood next to her and pointed. "A rear entrance perhaps?"

Sarah grinned. "Perhaps." With a little hop, she stealthed and investigated the back alley. Within seconds she returned. "Good eye, Zev. There is a rear entrance…with _one_ guard. Shall we?"

Everyone nodded. She had missed this, coercing villians, setting things right, doing something aside from moping in her own sorrow. Finally being allowed to get out of bed. She glanced at Alistair. Well, maybe there was something else she missed doing, but it had to wait.

She found the guard. Eyelashes again. "Hi, could I go inside? Just for a moment?"

"No, you can't go inside 'just for a moment.' You shouldn't be out on the streets now anyway, what with the plague."

She unconciously shifted her weight towards Alistair, forcing the guard to recognize the warrior's size. She shrugged. "Sorry, but I need to get in there."

Before the man could run away or shout for help, Sarah stunned him and Alistair knocked the guard unconcious. Wynne diligently checked Sarah for any damage as the leader fished a key from the guard's pocket.

The rogue giggled as more tickling magic coursed through her limbs. "Mother dear, I am fine. I feel wonderful!"

She skipped through the door and immediately released a deflated, "Oh."

Guards swarmed them from every corner in the room, more filled in from the doorways. Alistair jumped in front of Wynne, protecting the mage as she threw out the strongest of her destruction spells. Sarah and Zevran resumed their dance, flying through the sloppily armored guards, sliding their blades through folds and seams. They shouted to each other and laughed; delighting in the artistic combination of their flexible movements and poison-soaked blades. Teagan flanked his future king, helping defend the Templar and the mage as the rogues directed and quelled the Tevintir guard traffic.

Sarah felt _alive_, more than she had dueling on the estate, more than she had walking through Denerim. No doubt, this is what she was born to do, to fight, to decide, to infiltrate and expose. She no longer dreamed of being a teryn's daughter living a placid life in a peaceful castle. No, this was it.

More blades clanging, grunts from the numerous but dying guards. The five-person team quickly and easily won the battle against 15 trained soldiers. Yes, she was born for this. She searched the room for supplies and clues, finally spotting a key on a wooden table wrapped in a note.

"_Bring eight females and six males with the next shipment."_

Sarah covered her mouth and passed the parchment to Alistair. Her eyes watered slightly.

"Elves? Are they shipping elves?" he asked.

She nodded. "I think so."

She opened the door to a room full of cages, with elves packed in them. Smells, awful smells, she tried not to wretch.

"Help us! Please, we're not sick. Let us out of here!"

Before Sarah could speak, Zevran was whipping around the room, picking the locks and snarling. One of the elves paused to speak to her. "Thank you, friend."

She had assumed the worst, but needed to ask. "Do you know what happens to the people they take?"

"I don't know and I don't want to find out. Maker keep you!" and he sprinted away.

Sarah followed his path into the larger room, and spotted the front door. "Let's kill those…those…"

"Filthy excuses for existence," Zev supplied.

"Right."

She kept one blade drawn and used the key to open the door. "Protect the citizens!" she shouted, before realizing some of the elves were actually trying to defend the mages.

"Alistair! The mages!" she tried again. Her templar threw out spellcasting hexes, deterrants and cleanses, but that didn't stop one mage, hidden in the scaffolding, from trapping Sarah in some sort of forcefield. She ran into the open, shrieking and grunting as the mage sent invisible blades of pain and incisions through her body. She felt Wynne trying to heal her, but every attempt was blocked by the stronger, destructive Tevinter.

"Alistair!" She gasped, but her Templar was breathless, his stamina undone by the bombardment of magic in the air.

The pain kept coming, never decreasing its speed or effect. Then, Sarah realized she wasn't bleeding, it only felt like she was bleeding. It was a pain spell, nothing more. She sprinted back to the mage and kicked him in the stomach. He doubled over, but continued casting. She ignored the smarting along her body and stabbed the spellcaster repeatedly. Within seconds he had fallen, and she felt Wynne's cooling sparkles descend over her.

Alistair stumbled to her, breathless and exhausted. "My love…" he managed.

"I'm fine. It was only painful, not lethal. It's over now, and he is dead." She took Alistair's arm and pulled him against her so that he could regain his breath.

They spoke with Shianni again, but the furious elf was too angry to make much sense. Sarah was able to calm her down enough to get directions to another back alley.

Sarah found a dilapidated building, an apartment house. She worked the lock easily, the rotting doorway and the rusted bolt required much less than her deft hands to pick. The smell of rotting food overwhelmed them. Blood littered the floor of each abode, puddles of it across the wooden boards, the edges of broken vases coated in dried crimson. They wandered through the halls silently, it was as if life everywhere had ended in an instant, without notice.

Sarah let out a tiny sob when her foot scuffled against an abandoned, blood-soaked doll, perhaps the only toy of a little girl whose life had taken a dark and perilous turn. She ignored the comforting caresses of her templar and the soothing voice of the healer. What Sarah needed now was vengeance, not consolation.

The back door of the apartment building opened into another alley. Sarah stalked to another door. A warehouse. More guards inside, but they were slaughtered within seconds, Sarah's rage seeping into her companions' otherwise stark dispositions.

More guards, but they did not charge. Instead, a dark-haired female elf emerged, her weapons sheethed. She wanted to talk…kind of.

The elf eyed Sarah. "What is the meaning of this? We were told that there would be no interference from the authorities!"

Sarah kept her blades drawn and stared back. "I'm not with the 'authorities.'"

The elf scoffed. "Oh, an errant group of do-gooders then? You will regret this, you know. Believe it or not, we have been given dispensation to do our business here. You Fereldens talk a great deal about how very wrong slavey is, but isn't it funny how quickly the smell of gold overcomes such ideals?"

The affirmation Sarah did not want to accept. A slave trade? In Ferelden? Who the hell let this happen? "You're slavers!?"

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to acquire new blood? These slaves will fetch an excellent price in the Imperium, and we are paying handsomely for this opportunity." She waved her hand. "Enough. I am here to halt your slaugher, nothing more."

Sarah saw only rage. How could anyone, elf, human, dwarf, enslave others under good conscience? It was dispicable! "I'd certainly like to see you try," the leader seethed. Another quick battle. Sarah and Zevran disarmed the slave-traders' obvious traps. Teagan and Alistair took down the archers with ease.

Sarah made her way to the basement. More cages and more elves. Who knows how many had already been taken away! How was this happening? This was atrocious! She very much wanted to cry and hug all the prisoners, to kill anyone who stood in her way of doing just that. Then, the crazy mage wanted to talk. To _talk_. About _slavery_.

"I am Caladrius. And you, I assume, must be the Grey Warden I've heard so much about."

"You've heard of me?" Sarah spat.

"One can hardly get a word out of Regent Loghain besides 'Warden' these days. It surpassed even 'gold' in popularity."

Loghain! Of course that bastard would be behind this! Well, here was her proof: Teryn Loghain Mac Tir selling Ferelden citizens to fund his war. Sarah assumed her stern glare, pushing aside her rage to keep from attacking this man outright. She needed proof, then he could die. Proof first. "Then you should know to be frightened of me."

"Now, now, is this how we begin? With bluster? I was even hoping for...civility."

"Get to the point then."

"I have heard that you are trying to erode Loghain's support. It must be a difficult task, yes? Like washing away a mountain. Perhaps you could use some help."

"Oh, this should be good," she said under her breath. But the mage heard her.

"Sarcasm is beneath us both, my dear Warden."

Why was he calling her "dear Warden"? No, this man was not going to last much longer.

"Truth be told, there was always a limit to how long we were going to be able to operate here. We've paid for many of Loghain's troops, but once the Landsmeet is done we become...inconvenient. So, here is my offer: one hundred sovereigns from you for a letter with the seal of the Teryn of Gwaren upon it, implicating him in all of this. Then, we leave a few days earlier than planned, with our profits and remaning slaves unharmed."

Zevran shifted behind her, his anger no longer hidden. "I suggest you look those elves in the eyes before you agree to have them hauled off to slavery, my friend."

Alistair shook his head. "I feel dirty. We're not considering this, are we?"

Sarah laughed inwardly. Did her friends not know her better than this?

Caladrius continued. "So...do we have a deal? Even you must admit it is much better than resorting to barbarism, yes?"

She had slain a broodmother, been showered in darkspawn blood, been clothed in abomination sludge, been nearly naked and beaten by her own nation's army. Yes, in fact, barbarism was beginning to suit her quite well.

She leaned back on her leg, doing her best Zevran impression. "I have a counter offer."

"Interesting..."

Teagan whispered to Alistair. "Surely she will not go through with this…"

Alistair shrugged, he did not know.

Zevran cleared his throat.

Sarah smirked and narrowed her eyes. "My offer is this: I kill you and take everything for free." She whipped out her blades.

"Maker," Alistair and Teagan murmured at once.

Zevran laughed and followed her down the stairs.

Within seconds Alistair was shouting. "Blood mage! He's a blood mage!" The Templar put away his sword and harkened every magic resistent spell he could remember. Wynne threw an inpenatrable sheild around him, protecting him from Caladrius's attempted attacks. Teagan, Sarah, and Zevran slaughtered the guards easily, Alistair's continued cleansing of the area kept the fight and the destruction to a minimum. In minutes, Caladrius was begging for life.

Sarah loomed over the maleficarum, flanked by Alistair and Teagan. Zevran and Wynne released and healed the elves.

Caladrius coughed up profuse amounts of blood before he spoke again. "Enough! Enough! It seems your reputation is accurate one. I surrender."

Sarah spat on him and kicked his shoulder. "I will give you a fate no better than those you have enslaved." Before anyone else could move, she sliced his throat and kicked him again.

She dug her hands into his robes and withdrew five sheets of paper. She read them quickly before stuffing them into her own armor. Valendrian found her, and thanked them for the rescue. Sarah directed him to Shianni, quickly before leaving the basement. She ran through the Alienage gates, clutching her swords. Once she reached the bridge, she collapsed against the wall and sobbed.

Teagan and Alistair sat on either side of her, and she cursed Loghain, Anora, and even dead King Cailin. Zevran had been right. There was more evil in the world than she could have ever imagined. She grabbed her Templar's hand, and any doubt of putting him on the throne draining away with the rainwater that fell to the ground.


	84. Sound Advice, Perhaps

_AN: A short, but necessary chapter that sets the stage for some more fun ;). Also, keep the reviews coming, they are wonderful motivators! Thanks, all!_

**Chapter 83  
Day 4, early evening**

Alistair laughed. "More advice from you, Zevran? The last time you gave me that sort of advice, I wound up shivering on the ground and you were kissing my girlfriend."

Zevran smirked. "Ah, I thought we were past that. Besides, it was not my advice that went astray but simply the serum you drank. And, if I recall correctly, the advice worked quite well...a few times in fact."

Alistair sighed.

Zevran continued. "Anyway…do you not want to repay the favor that was so graciously bestowed upon you this morning? Hmm, yes, I think you might."

"Maker's breath, how do you know about that?"

"Oh, well your lady Cousland told me, of course."

"She what!?"

"Calm down, Alistair. I jest. Let me tell you what did happen, so you should not be further confused. Last night—or early this morning—your exquisitely lifelike dream and subsequent departure to the washroom, frightened your beloved so much that she ran from your room. As it happens, she met me in the common area, and she told me what had happened to you. Well, she tried to tell me, but but she did not quite know what to think of your…private exertions. In fact, she thought you were dreaming of Anora and not her--"

Alistair buried his face in his hands. "Oh, no. She didn't really? Did she?"

Zevran patted Alistair on the back. "No worries, my friend. I quickly set her straight. It seemed you were mumbling 'my queen' and, of course, Sarah thought it was Anora." The elf shook his head. "Silly girl."

Alistair groaned. "Are you going somewhere with this? The thought of my fiance running to you in the night is not exactly winning you any approval."

Zevran chuckled. "Well, she was quite…embarrassed, for your sake and for her own, but you will be happy to know that I sent Leliana to talk to your Warden, even though Sarah was the one to ask _me_ what _you _were doing. Of course, with a great deal of blushing."

"Maker…"

"Anyhow, as I understand it, things are quite, hmm…how shall I put this? Ah, yes, repetitive for the two of you, right?"

Alistair shook his head. "I-I-I don't know--"

"Not to worry, Alistair. This is all very good, I assure you. Leliana was kind enough to offer some rather, ah-hem, _sound_ advice to your fellow Warden, advice that Sarah seemed to put to good use, yes?"

If Alistair wasn't blushing before, her certainly was now. "Are you saying that Leliana told her what I was doing…and…and…and told Sarah how to, um…help me?" He winced. When had these sorts of things become public knowledge?

"Yes, Alistair! That is exactly what I am saying. Now, I am here, at the request of the bard, to impart some similar information on to you."

Alistair felt his middle start to tingle. There was a way to make his love feel like he had this morning? That sort of thing could be replicated?

Zevran laughed. "I can see by your face that the thought quite intrigues you. Now, will you let me educate you?"

Alistair only nodded. Of all the texts and histories he had been learning this week, Zevran's lesson was sure to become a priority.

* * *

Sarah stepped out of the bath, feeling refreshed and lighthearted. Though the events at the Alienage had not exactly been happy—just the opposite, in fact—she resolved that this evening would be. That Sarah had been cleared for battle was more than enough indication from Wynne that the Wardens' could re-engage in…well, just re-engage. After a quick meeting with Eamon, Sarah was ready for a long bath and a soothing rest before dinner.

However, Zevran pulled her to the side and recommended, rather vehemently, that she steal some food from the kitchen and stay in her room for the night. It was not until Zevran whisked Alistair away that Sarah realized Zev was not being flirtatious but helpful.

So, she followed her friend's advice. She stole from the kitchen two bottles of wine, two blocks of cheese, and a loaf of bread. It was not hard to figure out what Alistair liked to eat for dinner, and often she was too hungry to care what was on the plate before her. She took the loot back to their room and arranged it neatly on the table, using the rose as a lackluster, but heartwarming centerpiece. Then, she went to the washroom to work on the main attraction. Using bathsalts and soaps she had borrowed from Leliana, Sarah washed her hair and her body, all the while wondering if Alistair's conversation with Zevran would be anything like her own conversation with Leliana. Well, no doubt it would be much more embarrassing for her Templar than it was for her, but perhaps the results would be similar.

After her bath, Sarah was not quite sure how to proceed. Should she wear a dress? Should she simply wear her bra and panties? Just her robe? Should she crawl naked under the covers? Should she put on her armor and tease him? There were too many options. After a long while of staring into the cupboard and the vanity, she decided on bra, panties, and robe. A nice compromise. She would be fully covered, yet...accessible. And though she was alone, she blushed.

* * *

Alistair rubbed the back of his head as he walked to their room. Zevran's advice _seemed_ sound, but was Alistair bold enough to follow through? Yes, of course. They had all night. A magical reunion. And Alistair wanted to return the favor.


	85. The Connection

_AN: **First**, I made a poll regarding the end of the story, and would appreciate your input : ). Just go to my profile and click the poll link to vote. **Second,** sorry this update took a while, but I had company this weekend and did not have time to finish this. **Third**, this chapter is extremely fluffy, slightly clichéd, and a bit naughty…or a lot naughty. **Fourth**, the structure is a little different given a new(ish) plot development, but I hope you can follow it without too much confusion.** Fifth,** with any luck, this will be my last un-beta'ed chapter so hopefully we will see less of those silly typos and misspellings I have become more apt to use lately._

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**Chapter 84  
Day 4, Nightfall**

After trying to lay seductively on the bed for half an hour, Sarah was frustrated and tired of waiting. What was taking him so long? Zevran couldn't have that much to tell him, surely. She rose from the bed and paced around the room. She picked up her swords and starting twirling them through the air. She uncorked a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. One glass became two, and she realized that another half hour had passed, and he had still not come to their room.

Well, she couldn't very well go search for him dressed like this. It was dinner time and a robe was not appropriate attire for this time of day, and she did not feel like changing. Then, Sarah got a brilliant idea. She sat on the chair, closed her eyes, and concentrated.

_Alistair, where are you? I miss you._

She did not expect it to work, especially if he were busy or distracted.

_Eamon. I'm with Eamon._

She groaned and started pacing again. _Eamon? What does that old, sodding bugger want?_

She could almost feel him try not to laugh. _I don't know, I'm not paying attention to him._

_Maybe you should. He could be saying something important._

_Okay, you listen then. "…the Mac Tirs were but a lowly family with a small farmhold when Loghain met your father, King Maric…"_

_All right, all right. Not too important._ Sarah laughed to herself. She was emboldened. _Would you like me to entertain you, then?_

_Oh, you have a good joke? Or perhaps a card trick?_

She walked around the bed. _Can you see our room, Alistair?_

_Yes. Oh! Is that cheese? Yum!_

She walked to vanity. _Still with me, love?_

_Yes._

She untied her robe and stood before the mirror. Then, she quickly tied the robe back into place. _Alistair? Alistair?_

_Don't move!_

Moments later, Alistair swung open the door, stepped in, and locked the door behind him.

She giggled as he hugged her and his stubble grazed her cheek. "How did you escape?"

He traced her hair with his fingers. "Right now, I'm in the washroom with food poisoning. Bad. Very bad."

She stood back. "Ser Templar, did you lie to the Arl of Redcliffe?"

He pulled her against him, nodding. "And Teagan and Riordan--"

"Mmm." She ran her fingers along the back of his neck, and she felt him shiver. "Love, do you think we've become preoccupied? Perhaps we should put these things off until…until…"

He shook his head and started kissing her neck. "No."

"Mmmm," she hummed.

He continued, gradually lowering the collar of her robe as his lips moved out to her shoulders and onto her chest.

"What's that Alistair?"

"What?" he mumbled through continued pecks on her neck.

"Wait." She pushed him back gently. "I can hear you…You're reciting rules in your head. Like…" she closed her eyes. "Yes. _Kiss, lick, nip. Kiss, lick, nip. _It's like your chanting Orlesian declensions."

Alistair blushed; he was treating Zevran's advice like a grammar school lesson when tonight was supposed to be about passion and reconnecting.

She shook her head. "No, don't be embarrassed, love." She moved her arms from around his neck and cradled his face in her hands. "Don't you see? I can read your mind."

_I love you_.

"I love you, too."

_I'm not sure I like you in here. I may say, er, think something…unseemly._

_Alistair, can you hear me?_

_Maker, how did you do that?_

They continued watching each other, thoughts and feelings flooding between them, as if there were streams of arrows traded by rival combatants.

Alistair blinked. _How can we do this? It's suddenly very…fluid. When before it hardly worked._

She shook her head, though she didn't need to._ I don't know. Maybe it's because…_

…_the archdemon is coming, _he finished.

_That doesn't make sense, though. When darkspawn are nearby, we can't ever do this._

As Alistair's mind searched for answers, she heard every thought. _Archdemon. Dreams. Darkspawn. Riordan. Plague at the alienage? Blood magic? Love? Maybe we're getting better at it._

_Why don't we just put it to good use, then?_ She thought. Then she blushed, not being used to communicating without an internal censor.

_You always have the best ideas._

She gave herself over to the taint, letting loose the thoughts that decorated her mind whenever Alistair was near and they had time enough alone to enjoy each other. _The touch of your lips on my skin ignites a fire in my heart._

He resumed his kissing, ignoring any advice or lessons he may have stored away, only listening to her voice in his mind. His lips continued downward. He reached for the belt of her robe, untied it, and pushed it off her shoulders.

_Not fair_. _You're still wearing your armor._

_Then you better do something about that_.

_You're too far ahead. I'll never catch up._

_Want me to stop, then?_ he teased. He pulled away, his breathing already fast and his face flushed.

She slipped out of his arms and leaped onto the bed._ Well, I got ready for you, didn't I? It wouldn't be fair for me to do all the work_. She leaned against the headboard, her legs outstretched and her hands resting behind her head. _I'm waiting_.

He fumbled with the clasps on his armor. _Quit staring. You're making me nervous—You are so beautiful—and your scar—_

Her hand flew from her head to cover her oblique. _No, don't look at that—_

He smiled at her just as he pulled of his top armor and dropped it to the floor. _Don't cover it, my love. Let me see you. All of you. I love every little part._

_Am I really that beautiful?_ She gradually moved her hands to rest beside her hips on the bed.

_Always. You are always beautiful._ He took off his shirt and threw it on top of his armor.

_I—can't—breathe—you are—gorgeous…_

He knelt to the floor, unlatching his bracers and removing his boots. _You could do much better, I'm sure._

_No, there is no better_.

He paused. _Do you mean that?_

_Of course I do. I would have no one but you, Alistair. Don't you know that?_

He pulled off his second boot, rose from the floor, and went into the washroom. _I have failed you too many times._

_You know, I can still hear you even if you're in the other room. You have never failed me; you saved me. From everything._ She forced herself to stop thinking in words and, as openly as she knew how, sent him her feelings, trying to flood his mind with her love.

_There is no way you can love me that much._

_There is no other way to love you, anything less would be impossible. What are you doing in there?_

_Cleaning my teeth, shaving, and…you smell so clean and nice. I feel dirty._

_I want you to feel dirty…_

_Not this kind of dirty._

She laughed, her voice ringing in the silence. She pulled her knees to her chest to stifle her giggles. _I am unbelievably happy right now._

_Oh, it's going to get better. Happy doesn't begin how you'll feel when I'm done with you, my lady._

Sarah was jarred. Her mind snapped, and she was at Fort Drakon again, on the floor, the guards surrounding her.

Alistair saw her vision as if it were his own. He ran from the washroom, a towel wrapped around him. _My love…I'm sorry…please…_

She let out a quiet sob, leaning her forehead on her knees, but not looking at him. _Quit blaming yourself. Are you quite finished yet? I need a distraction._

_I'm not going to do anything if it keeps reminding you of that._

She finally looked up, and whispered, "I need to feel you so that everything else fades away."

_Give me one more minute._ He ran back to the washroom and looked in the mirror over the sink. _All right Templar. This is it—_

_Alistair, are you giving yourself a pep talk?_

_Oh, right. I'm coming out now. Brace yourself._ He whisked off the towel and stepped through the doorway.

_Androste, help me. Forgive me for my sins…_

He approached the foot of the bed, lifted one knee onto it and sat near her feet. _Tell me…tell me to stop if-if-if I hurt you or-or you feel scared or—_

_Alistair, just go._

He started to stand. _You want me to leave?_

_Touch me_, she nearly begged. _With your hands, your lips…_

He took a deep breath, his thoughts too frantic for her to decipher them beyond _love…need…touch._ He wrapped his hands around her ankles and pulled her further down the bed, her head rested on the pillows, her arms laid alongside her. He gently pushed her ankles back, forcing her knees to bend. Her stomach and chest rose and fell more rapidly.

_Alistair…_ It was as if he heard her moan in his mind.

"I love you," he rumbled. Sitting on his knees, he inched forward, grazing his hands from her ankles, to her shins and calves, to her kneecaps and her thighs.

She was gasping, his fingertips ignited a tiny fires under her skin with each touch. _Maker…what are you doing?_

_I'm not sure yet_…_are you okay?_

_Getting better by the second. Don't stop, whatever it is…_

Her legs drifted apart as he leaned forward, her knees pressed into his shoulders. His hands found her ankles again. He kissed the lower part of her stomach, his lips and tongue roaming closer to her panties.

_Oh, I forgot you had these on._

_Get them off!_

He looked up, watching her face, her mouth was hanging open as she gasped for air, her eyes were wide.

_Must you always be this impatient? _he teased, moving his hands to her waistline and pulling the garment to her knees, down her legs and onto the floor.

Her hands gripped the quilt under her. A hot pulsing fervor traveled through her body, sending shockwaves to—

…_Maker, you're…like the most beautiful flower I've ever seen… _His hands found her ankles again, steadying her body a little.

She was unbelievably embarrassed, he was looking…down there…staring at her like she were a rare and intricately painted runestone. Suddenly, she felt his lips touch her, and instantly she stopped thinking, she only felt, waves of sensation crashed into, around, and out from her middle. She screamed his name, it was all she could do, the only way to relieve the mounting but fantasmic awareness that pulled her focus from everywhere else to linger on the place his mouth rested. One of her hands gripped the blankets and sheets beneath her, the other raked his hair as his head moved between her legs.

_You taste wonderful…_

…_I have a taste? _she managed before moaning again.

His grip around her ankles tightened. His tongue, he was using his tongue. The pulsations in her body were nearly driving her mad. She screamed; he moved faster. Another scream; even faster. She felt she was going to die, no one could live through this, it was too much. All of his tiny touches began to coalesce; another one began before the last one ended. Every feeling, every thought, emotion, every touch, every sound, every breath became one crippling sensation. She had no control. Her knees bore into his shoulders, her hands ripped at the bed sheets and his hair.

"ALISTAIR THIERIN, MY KING!"

Her heart was beating in her ears, surely her head would explode, blood rushed into all of her limbs. Her skin was covered in sweat, but she had barely moved. Her legs straightened and collapsed onto the bed. She blindly searched for him, and his mouth found hers, their hot breath mingling together through locked lips and tongues. With one hand he brushed her hair back onto the top of her head, with the other he unlatched her bra and pulled it off. She slammed her hands into his his back and dug her fingertips into his skin.

_Are you okay?_ he asked.

She felt his need, in her mind and grazing along her thigh. _Yes!_ How could he be calm enough to ask her? This was too much, everything was coming together. At first it was only her urge, her desires, and now Alistair's piled onto her. He slid into her, and the sensations doubled, as if forced together by some cosmic power. Where did she end and he begin? Were these his thoughts or her own? It did not matter. The pulsing started again, twice as strong, twice as intense, twice as loud. Her voice collided with his in the air, the moans echoed off the walls, the letters jumbled together, created new sounds, new phrases, but all the same, continuous word.

It happened to her again, but he was with her. Every surface of her body seemed to touch his as they wandered ever upwards together. He kept kissing her, though they were both panting. In the confusion and intensity, she bit his lip and drew blood, and it dripped into her mouth. But he didn't stop, he kept moving, and she followed him, her body telling him what she needed while responding to his own pleas. One final thrust and they crashed together, feeling weightless and full. The world really did disappear around them, as their minds and bodies shared the intensified experience of two lovers as if they were one. Gradually, painfully, slowly, their bodies relaxed. He collapsed beside her, all of his muscles exhausted, his lungs desperately trying to fill with enough air to take the next breath. She rolled away from him, wanting to cool her hot skin and find a spot on the bed that wasn't covered in sweat. They laid next to each other, not thinking, speaking, or touching for a long while, allowing their bodies to recover from the onslaught that had just plagued them.

Finally, Alistair rose and stood by the bed. He turned to face her. "Are you sure you're not a mage? That was just…unbelievable."

She rolled over to face him. "I barely did anything…

He shook his head. "What _was _that?"

"You, my Warden, are amazing. I love you so much."

"If everyone loved like this I don't see how anyone could leave their bedroom."

She laughed, and shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe it's just us then. We are that awesome."

"So…I can't hear your thoughts anymore. Can you hear mine?"

She thought for a moment. "No, now that is strange…"

He shrugged. "Well, I suppose I should get dressed, a least a little.

She pouted.

"No, don't look at me like that." He paused. "All right, all right, no pants for Alistair.

She shivered on the bed, she had cooled down, and finally realized how cold the room was. "Alistair, will you put a few more logs on the fire?" she asked crawling under the covers.

His eyes grew wide. "My dear, I am a seasoned warrior, but I'm not even sure I have enough energy--"

She covered her face with one hand and pointed to the fireplace. "No, the fire," she explained, giggling.

"Oh, right. Of course." He quickly threw some more logs onto the fire

"Alistair?"

"Yes, my love?" he asked, snuffing out the torches in their room.

"You should have little chats with Zevran more often."

"Oh! You! I am going to--" He took a running leap onto the bed, and tickled her furiously before pulling her into his arms.

She sighed. Alistair kissed her forehead and she found her comfy spot alongside them. In two days she'd have to make him king, but whether she could convince anyone she could rule beside him, she was not quite sure. She also realized, with a rather prideful grin, that Alistair hadn't even touched the cheese she laid out for him.

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_Author's end note: I cannot believe I wrote that._

_Before anyone rolls their eyes at the "flower" comparison, I shall tell you that my search for euphemisms for that particular _**area **_resulted in some terms that were just awful, including "pearl," "nubbin'," and "peeping sentinel." I kid you not._


	86. Dreams, Past and Present

_AN: Yay! Thanks goes to the official _Merciful Blood_ beta, SpiritWarrior22, who also has a great story of his own, _Trials and Tribulations_, and everyone should check that out._

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**Chapter 85  
Day 4/5, Middle of the Night**

Alistair woke to find Sarah clutching his wrists and wearing her familiar but pained expression of just having woken from an archdemon-induced nightmare. He was actually surprised the nightmares had not returned for him, given that the horde was getting ever closer. And, of course, he felt guilty about that. She loosened her grip enough for him to slide one of his hands into hers, and he kissed her palm.

"You're safe now," he comforted. "Do you want to talk about it?" He reached his other arm around her and fingered her hair.

"It was the same one. It's like he knows my greatest fear, and taunts me with it. I think that each time it will get easier, because I _know_ it isn't real, but it's like, if I'm not scared, he reaches down and presses fear into me."

He kissed the top of her head. "It's because he fears you, my love. He knows how strong you are, how determined you are, he's trying to bring you down."

"I wonder if Riordan has dreams. I know you don't, but he might."

"What are you saying? I'm not a threat to the angry dragon?" he joked.

"The archdemon obviously hasn't met Zevran yet. Surely our assassin would have warned the beast against you."

He felt some of the tension leave his body, at least she was still able to see humor in everything.

She sniffed beside him. "Alistair…we smell…really, really bad."

"Well, we were…really, really bad."

She took the blankets and sniffed them. "Oh, Maker…these smell awful. Why don't the ancient romances mention this part of making love…the post-deed stench? I can't--" She jumped out of the bed. "I can't lay there. It's just too…" She grabbed her robe from the floor and wrapped it tightly around her. "I suppose it's too late to get new linens, I don't want to wake anyone."

Alistair slid out of the bed. Sure, he didn't smell his best, but he didn't think it was unbearable.

She covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh my goodness! Alistair, you—er—we—broke the bed!" She pointed at the foot board, which had fallen off its planks and was lying on the floor, perpindicular to its original position.

Alistair could not help from grinning. "How did we not notice that before?"

She immediately blushed. "We were very busy…"

He sighed. "Tell you what. You go take a bath, and I'll find us some new sleeping quarters."

She nodded. "You need a bath, too."

He gave her a half smile. "Yes, but if I go with you, we'll just end up were we are now, with even less sleep, and possibly more damaged furniture."

"Very true," she giggled. "Okay, I will see you in a little bit then." She scampered to the washroom.

Alistair gave a quick sniff to his underarms, and without very much thought, spritzed some lavender fragrance on his shoulders. Of course, he did not know it was a lavender fragrance, he just knew that it smelled better than he did. He found his pants and a shirt, and slipped out of the room to seek out his cousin.

He found Teagan, as expected, sleeping in his room, snoring loudly and murmuring about steak. Teagan, although as romantic as the next man, often dreamed of steak, perhaps a side effect of his mother not allowing him meat in his younger days. The kindly old lady was often disappointed with the way Eamon seemed to plump up during his adolescence, so she kept her younger son on a strict diet until he was 12 or so and repeatedly lost fights to his schoolmates on account of his slow muscle development.

Alistair, feeling little sympathy for the carefree Bann, kicked the corner of Teagan's bed, causing the slumbering warrior to leap from his resting place and shout "Lock the larder! I'll be there in a minute!"

Alistair laughed mercilessly at his friend, who glared sleepily at the Templar. "Alistair, what in Andraste's name are you doing in my room in the middle of the night?"

Alistair was eventually able to calm down enough to speak. "I need you to show me a place on the grounds that is secluded and well-protected."

Teagan rubbed his forehead. "What? Now? Is this some sort of Grey Warden thing? Can't it wait until morning?"

Alistair, perhaps looking for a reason to brag instead of actually seeking out new sleeping quarters, grinned. "My current abode has recently become, ah…dismantled."

Teagan dropped his hand. "Dismantled?"

"Ah, yes," Alistair could not keep from beaming. "Apparently, Denerim beds are not very sturdy."

Teagan continued glaring. "The estate furniture was made in Redcliffe and transported here."

"Oh, well…"

"Alistair, did you break the bed?"

"Well, it wasn't just me, exactly…"

"Maker…" Teagan groaned. "Eamon's going to be upset about this. You're supposed to be sick, remember?"

Alistair's smile faded. "Oh, right."

Teagan buried his face in his hand and shook his head. "Alistair, how have the two of you managed to raise an army to stop the Blight _and_ convince half of the Fereldan nobility to dethrone 'Regent' Loghain, and still be so irresponsible?"

Alistair, a little miffed at being called irresponsible, countered, "Listen, Teagan. We have spent the better part of the last year trekking across all of Fereldan, fighting for our lives and taking shelter where we could, avoiding the government at all costs. In another week, who even knows if this castle will be standing or if any of us will be alive. There are two more days until the Landsmeet, and I am going to spend them the best way I know how. If that means I have a few days of being 'irresponsible,' then so be it. I deserve the chance. And so does she."

Teagan squared his shoulders. "Right. Okay, I know a spot."

Before going outside, Alistair stopped by the storage closet and piled his camping supplies into Teagan's arms. Then, taking a few clean but old blankets from the closet, as well as his and Sarah's pillows, Alistair followed Teagan outside and around the grounds. Soon, the men had the tent pitched, the bed made, and a small fire burning in front of it.

Teagan surveyed their work and scratched his head. "Alistair, you've spent most of your time camping, and now when you have the chance to sleep inside, you come out here?"

Alistair simply nodded. The sight of the campsite and the camaraderie of the closest thing he had to a brother, made the Templar feel oddly reminiscent. "She loves the stars, though she couldn't tell you Andraste's arrow from the Tevintir's sword." He sighed. "We fell in love beneath these stars, the same stars I stared at as a boy, wondering if I'd ever have a family, if any one would ever love me as their own--"

"Alistair, I'm sorry that Eamon sent you away--"

Alistair waved his hand. "No, don't apologize. Don't you see, all those awful things that happened to me, all that I've been through, I'd do it again. I'd do it all again in a second, if I would end up back here, with her."

Teagan placed a hand on Alistair's shoulder. "You are a lucky man, my friend."

"I know," replied the Templar, hiding a small tear that ran down his cheek.

"Alistair, you smell like flowers and the soldiers' quarters," observed Teagan, as he inched away.


	87. Kidnapped!

_AN: Though it's kind of late in the game, I'm switching from numbered chapters to titled ones. Clearly I am procrastinating at work._

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**Kidnapped!  
**Day 5, Morning

Bann Teagan stalked along the estate's winding paths. The early morning dew rose in small splashes as his shoes slammed into the little puddles along the pebbled walkways. He finally arrived at the Wardens' campsite breathless and panicked.

He ran to the tent. "Alistair! Sarah!"

From inside, Sarah stirred and sat up. "What is it, Teagan?" she asked groggily. She tried opening her eyes, but the morning light was too harsh and she could only squint in the direction of the Bann's voice. Alistair simply groaned and tried pulling her back down onto the bed.

"You need to come inside quick. Your friend—Zeus—Zephyr--"

Sarah blinked repeatedly, trying to coax her eyes to adjust to the blinding light. "Zevran?" she managed.

"That's the one! He's holding Eamon at knife point. He demands to know where the two of you are!" Teagan paced impatiently before the tent, nervously biting his thumbnail.

Alistair kept tugging at her arm. "Sarah," he mumbled. "What is it? Lay back down."

She slid her hand away from him and stood up, already reaching for her top-shirt and pants. "It's Zevran. He's taken Eamon hostage."

"Maker." Alistair swept the blankets aside and silently cursed the elf.

Sarah was already untying the tent flap and slamming her bare feet onto the cold, wet grass. She gestured for Teagan to follow her as strode to the pathway before breaking into a run.

"What's happening, Teagan?" she asked, her bare feet pounding against the tiny pebbles.

He struggled to keep up. "You friend seems to think we kidnapped you. I tried telling him you were outside, but--" he slowed to a jog.

Sarah paused for him to catch up. "Where are they?"

"In Eamon's bedroom," he panted.

"Right." She was off, sprinting along the walkways and under trees, calculating the most efficient route to Eamon's quarters. She wondered when she last went for a relaxing run through the forest, alone. Certainly she enjoyed her time with Alistair, but as her feet continued trailing through the verdant grounds, she realized how much she missed this quiet, solitary activity. She inhaled deeply, absorbing the fresh morning air and delighting in the bird-songs floating down from the multiple branches sweeping overhead. She could have easily forgotten the bustling city of Denerim was only a mile away, and were it not for the fact she had neglected to put on shoes, she could have wandered among the foliage for hours.

Finally, she arrived at the servants' entrance, red-faced and breathless. She slipped through doors and wove among the bustling house-workers, offering quick apologies as she raced by. Through the corridors and up the steps, along the hallway, until finally she found the master bedchamber, its door shut but unlocked. She turned the knob and swung the door open.

It was as Teagan had said. Against the wall opposite the door, Zevran, muscles tense and skin glistening with the hint of perspiration, held the Arl of Redcliffe in a choke-hold with a dagger pressed against the nobleman's throat.

Almost as soon as she entered the room, Zevran relaxed his grip enough for Eamon to slip away, moving to the corner of the room.

"Tesoro," the elf said, relief flashing over his face before it was replaced by his concealing smirk.

Her hands clenched into fists at her side. "Zevran Arainai, what are you doing?!"

"Where is Alistair?"

"He's with Teagan. He's fine."

Eamon watched the exchange, and his eyes grew wide as Sarah approached the crazed elf. Sarah grabbed Zevran's wrist and twisted the dagger from his grasp. She slid the blade into the waist of her pants and walked toward Eamon.

"Are you okay, Eamon?" she asked, checking his arms and torso for injuries.

Eamon rubbed his chin and neck. "Yes, Warden…"

She bowed her head to him. "I'm sorry, Eamon. Please, rest. I will handle this." She stormed to Zevran, grabbing his wrist once more, and dragged him out of Eamon's quarters and through the castle until they arrived at the empty parlor.

"What in Thedas is your problem!?" she demanded, releasing his wrist and handing him his dagger.

He threw up his hands. "What was I supposed to expect? I go to your room, find the door wide open, clothes and sheets everywhere, a broken bed, and the two of you are no where to be found."

She began pacing alongside the couch. "So your best idea is to corner the Arl of Redcliffe and threaten his life? Zevran, that man has welcomed us into his home! He's fed and kept us, here and in Redcliffe. Why would you think he'd want to kidnap us?"

Zevran sat in a chair and leaned forward on his knees, spinning the dagger rapidly in his hand. "His alliance with you is a matter of convenience, tesoro. His voice alongside yours will give him a lot of power at the Landsmeet."

She stopped pacing and stood in front of him, resisting the urge to give him a maternal pat on the head. "Zev, I know Eamon seems a little overzealous and old-fashioned, but I assure you, he is a good man. We can trust him."

Sarah turned her head to the doorway, hearing the familiar patter of Alistair's footsteps as he trudged along the corridor. He stumbled into the room, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He slipped his arm around Sarah's waist and leaned sleepily against her. "What's going on?" he mumbled.

"Zevran…" she changed her tone, realizing that Zevran was trying to save _them_. Not just her, but both of them. "Meet, Zevran, former Antivan Crow, current Grey Warden honor guard."

Zev stopped spinning his dagger and stood up. "Wait. If you weren't kidnapped, then…what happened to your room?"

Sarah blushed and buried her face in the crook of Alistair's arm.

The Templar cleared his throat. "As a gentleman, I cannot tell you exactly what transpired upon that broken bed." He beamed and winked at Zevran.

It was Zevran's turn to cross his arms and smirk. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, my Alistair, you are an excellent student." He looked Alistair up and down. "Yes, and to start with such attractive equipment, it's no wonder your fellow Warden is looking at you so dreamily."

Alistair glanced down to find Sarah's eyes swimming as she watched his face. She lifted a hand to his chest. "Yes, Zev, he is quite the looker."

Zevran narrowed his eyes and studied Alistair again. "Mmm-hmm," he growled.

Alistair jumped from the approaching Zevran. Sarah giggled, as Zevran lifted a hand to Alistair's face.

"Tesoro, how did you get so lucky? He is _gorgeous_," the elf whispered.

"Oh, Maker!" Alistair bolted from the room, leaving Sarah and Zevran in hysterics.

Sarah shook her head. "I don't think he knew you were…that open."

Zevran shrugged and tapped his forefinger against his chin, continuing to watch the doorway. "Remember when I told you I was more jealous of him than you?"

"Yes…"

"I think the tables have turned…"

"Zevran!" She playfully shoved his shoulder and laughed once more.

As her laughter died down, she lowered her voice. "Zev, in all seriousness, you were worried about him, too, not just me, right?"

His only response was to prance out of the room calling, "Alistair, oh sweet, luscious, Alistair! Return to me!"

Sarah covered her eyes with her hand and shook her head.

A page just avoided being trampled by Zevran as he ambled into the parlor. "My lady, Warden Riordan--"

She was in another fit of giggles, "War-den Ri-or-dan!" she sang.

"Um, yes, Warden Riordan requests some time with you and Ser Alistair."

_Ser Alistair?_ Sarah squared her shoulders. Back to business. "Yes, of course. Please tell Riordan we will be with him in an hour. Thank you."

The page bowed. "As you wish, m'lady."

First, breakfast, then the meeting with Riordan, another visit to the Alienage, and finally back to the estate for some speech writing. She couldn't very well put her Templar on the throne without a good oration. Running would have to wait until later.


	88. Caspian & Quintus

**Caspian & Quintus  
**Day 5, Mid-morning

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Sarah skipped out of Leliana's room to find Alistair leaning against the wall, waiting for her. She instantly took his hand and they walked through the hallway, making their way to Eamon's study, where they were to meet Riordan.

"So why the sudden interest in your hair?" he asked, kissing the top of her head.

She shrugged. "It's not really just about my hair. Leliana has this way of making me feel at ease. And she tells the most wonderful stories."

"Well, she was a bard."

"And quite a good one, I imagine."

They found the study and ambled in casually. As soon as they had crossed the threshold, Riodan shut the door behind them.

The senior Warden was the pinnacle of decorum. "My lady," he bowed, and "Ser Alistair," he said, bowing again.

Alistair shook his head. "No, I am not a knight, although someone in this castle apparently thinks I am," he complained, rolling his eyes.

Sarah caressed his back in an attempt to comfort him. "My love, there's not exactly an appropriate title for an ex-Templar turned Grey Warden, who is secretly a royal bastard."

Riordan chuckled. "Indeed." He gestured to a few chairs in the corner of the room. "Shall we?"

"Of course," Sarah answered, pulling away from Alistair and skipping to the chairs and sitting down. "What's this about Riordan?" she asked, before giving either man a chance to get situated.

Riordan cleared his throat. "Well, first I wanted to see how you were…feeling. Your healer says that you recovered from your injuries very quickly, even for a Warden. But I find myself more concerned about your other malady."

Sarah stared at the floor and wrapped her feet around the legs of her chair. She glanced at Alistair, who was watching her closely. "I'm doing…better, but--" she took a deep breath, "I still flashback quite often."

Alistair took her hand and shook his head. She had not told him she continued to relive her capture.

Riordan nodded. "This is normal. You are handling it very well, considering…considering what almost happened. But, don't be too hard on yourself, you must allow your mind to work through it. Like any other muscle, your brain must overcome its trauma, and sadly, magic can only do so much." He leaned back in his chair and watched Alistair's face as the Templar looked at Sarah. "You are fortunate, though, to have a diligent caretaker by your side. I have no doubt your resilience has much to do with his thoughtful attention."

Sarah smiled and finally looked up from the floor. "Right you are, Riordan. It helps a great deal."

Riordan rose from his chair. "Now, I have been thinking about this connection the two of you seem to share. I have attempted to recall if I'd ever heard about it in the history of the Wardens, but my memories of such a thing are scarce. I have, however been able to decode much of the folio you recovered from Howe's estate."

"Folio?" said Alistair.

Sarah nodded. "When we were at the Amaranthine, I found a locked chest that contained papers Riordan had in his possession when Howe captured him."

"Yes," the senior Warden affirmed. "They were all coded, you see, but I worked most of the day before and yesterday on uncovering their messages. As fate would have it, or perhaps it was the Maker's will, stuffed amongst instructions regarding the joining ritual were a few entries from the journal of a junior recruit who was initiated during the last Blight. In fact, he was the final Warden to join the ranks before the archdemon was slain.

"Now, I cannot give you all the details, as the account is very old and the boy, Caspian, was rather young and wrote sloppily, but he seems to have had a similar experience. It appears that he could exchange thoughts with another junior Warden, Quintus, who was recruited immediately before him. Caspian's journal explains that he and Quintus, on occasion, could communicate through the taint, though the ability was fleeting. However, as the archdemon grew in power and became more present in our dreams, Caspian and Quintus found themselves communicating more and more often. But, Caspian noted, the connection was only sustained if both of them were sending thoughts. That is, Caspian could not read Quintus's mind unless Quintus 'sent' something to him, and vice versa."

Sarah nodded her head. "That sounds familiar. But why is it we can't communicate when darkspawn are near? And just last night, at one point our…thoughts were very fluid, but after...after...a while they just sort of stopped."

Riordan finally sat down again. "Well, Caspian did mention that it was more difficult to communicate when other tainted beings were around, but he and Quintus worked at it to make the connection more stable. Caspian reasoned, quite logically, that he and Quintus were chosen because they were the youngest recruits and the least likely to face the archdemon, as is the custom during the Blight. The connection could work to spare their lives and ensure the Grey Wardens were not wiped out. As for last night, I am not sure. Perhaps both of you weren't communicating."

Alistair pretended to be terribly interested in something on the bottom of his shoe.

Sarah absentmindedly dropped his hand and began dancing her fingers along her kneecaps. "So…this connection Alistair and I have is some sort of Grey Warden evolution coping mechanism?"

"It would appear so, yes."

"And if we work at it, the two of us could possibly 'speak' to each other once the battle begins?"

"Um, yes. Caspian mentioned an effective method was to have a sort of litany they chanted to each other before the darkspawn got very close, and periodically repeating the phrase sustained the connection throughout darkspawn attacks."

"A litany? That's a brilliant idea." She was getting very excited. Finally the taint was beginning to show some purpose. "Riordan, did Caspian say whether the connection still worked _after_ the archdemon was slain?"

Riordan, a little surprised by her optimism to look ahead to the future, smiled slightly. "There was only one entry after the Blight ended, and while most of it concerned the tactics used to swarm the archdemon, Caspian mentioned that he could still hear Quintus's thoughts, though the two parted ways soon after the battle, Caspian stayed in Ferelden while Quintus migrated to Orlais."

Sarah stood and paced around the chairs. "To be honest, Riordan, I thought the connection had something to do with us…becoming so close. With such a limited knowledge on the history of the Wardens, I assumed that not many of them found themselves falling in love." Suddenly she felt very childish. "I don't mean to say that I think my and Alistair's relationship is tantamount to the Blight or anything--"

Riordan chuckled lightly. "No, the two of you are just lucky. Even in our short acquaintance, my lady, I have found you to be extremely driven and task-oriented. You clearly have put the Wardens first, although you have ample reason not to."

She blushed and reached for Alistair's hand. He looked up from his shoe and took her palm. He shrugged. "I tried to get her to run away, Riordan, but she would have none of it."

The three of them laughed, well aware that Alistair's sense of duty would let him do no such thing.

Riordan placed his hands on his knees. "Now what are you plans before the Landsmeet?"

Sarah sighed. "Today we must return to the alienage. Yesterday, we found enough evidence to take down Loghain, but there's still plague rampant, and something just didn't feel right about the district. I certainly think it deserves our attention. After that, I'm sure Eamon, Teagan, Alistair and I will discuss or strategy for the Landsmeet." Another sigh. "And Alistair and I will have to decide if--"

"I am to be king," he finished, running his hand through his hair. "Riordan, I know it isn't customary for Wardens to get involved in these things, but, in order to raise the army, we had little choice but to cooperate with Eamon."

Riordan nodded knowingly. "I believe our mission of ending the Blight at all costs certainly outweighs our stance on neutrality. And, I do not think Duncan knew when he recruited you that you'd be the last of the Theirin bloodline."

Alistair shook his head, trying too keep his memories of Duncan at bay.

Sarah immediately stood behind Alistair and placed her hands on his shoulders, giving them a comforting squeeze. "Well, Riordan, we must be going. I would like, if you're willing, for you to join us when we meet with Eamon. You know better than the rest of us what we should expect from the horde. And, to be honest, I think Eamon is a little frightened of you." She skipped, pulling Alistair from his chair as she walked through the study. "And, Riordan, though it may disappoint you, I am not above intimidation and coercion, should it help the Wardens kill that bloody dragon bastard."

Riordan laughed again, surprised to hear swears from a lady's mouth. "I have no doubt of that," he offered, bowing as they left the room.

* * *

_AN: Clearly, I am a fan of Narnia and was a Latin student in high school._


	89. Fourth Confession, Seventh Gift

_AN: Thanks to SpiritWarrior22, who magically changed this chapter into something that made sense.  
_

* * *

**89. Another Confession, Another Gift**

Alistair was going to have to tell her. Eventually she would drill it out of him anyway. And it was best he told her now, lest Riordan's advice be wasted. They left the study, and she slid her hand into his. His mind was continuously bombarded with her thoughts, which she freely shared with him, and to which he did not reply.

She was leading them back to their dismantled room to collect weapons and armor, but he gently pulled her into an empty bedchamber and shut the door.

She grinned devilishly, "Ser Templar, I am not sure Eamon has enough furniture for us to start this again."

He heard her words twice, first from her mind and then from her mouth. They were layered with other thoughts as well. _Plague. Alienage. I love you. I love you. Please kiss me. Don't let go of my hand. We have work to do._ So many thoughts at once, and he treasured every single one.

He cradled her cheek, smiling as her eyes gleamed before him. _Can you hear me, love?_

_Yes, it's working again._ She smiled.

He rubbed the back of his head. _It never stopped working, I just shut you out._

Her grip on his hand loosened and she looked away. _Oh._

_No, it is entirely my fault. I'm sorry. I am so new to this, sharing myself with you. I love you, more than I could ever tell you in words, or show you with roses or kisses…but I am afraid of losing you._

_You will never lose me._ She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him against her. As she laid her head against his chest, she could hear his heart hammering against his ribcage. _I hear your heartbeat, what are you so afraid of, Alistair? Tell me._

Returning her embrace, he exhaled, forcing his mind to lower its carefully constructed barriers._ I am not worthy of you. You say I haven't failed you, but I have. I fail everyone. They have all sent me away. I dread the day when you will realize how inadequate I am; there is someone better for you than me. _He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked down at her._ I don't want to be king, but I have to. You don't want a life restricted to the court. You deserve more than that, you deserve to be happy, to return to Highever, to have children, a family._

She felt the fear as if it was her own and she pulled him even closer, tears streaming down her cheeks and wetting his shirt._ You are my family, Alistair. You are my world. There is nothing beyond what we have here. I am not going to leave you; I would never send you away. I love every part of you. Every unfounded insecurity, every worrisome thought, every sound from your mouth, every emotion you have: fear, lust, hope, despair, grief, love. EVERYTHING. I fell in love with and will always love YOU._

He ran his fingers through her hair, his heart swelling as she sent her every emotion into his mind. His love was doubled, swirling in through the taint and infecting every part of his body. _You really do love me as much as I love you._

_If not more._

He chuckled. _No, no one could love anything in the world more than I love you._

_Don't start with me, Ser Templar, you know I win every argument._

_Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with me?_ He looked down at her again as she stared up at him. Sarah could feel the emotions running through him as she watched his face, the anticipation, the sense of longing.

_Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with me?_ She retorted. _Kiss me, Alistair. Tell me we will be okay._

He ran his hand from her hair to her face and lifted her chin. Her eyes filled with that treasured gleam as he leaned closer. Though it was only a kiss, the touch was magnified for both of them, as each sensation was doubled and quadrupled through the shared connection. He pulled away slightly and rested his forehead against hers.

She smirked. _You should tell Zevran he's not as good of an instructor as he thinks. _

_Oh?_

_Clearly _this_ comes from _us_ and not some seducer's instruction book._

_I don't know, some of his advice was put to good use._ He replayed the memory of their night together.

_Alistair, _that_ was amazing._

_It was…_

_No, don't feel embarrassed. Tell me._

_It was empowering to realize I could make you feel like that._

_I can say the same to you, my love._ She replayed her memory of yesterday morning, when she found Alistair sitting in the bathtub. Simultaneously, she ran her hand along his lower back, bringing it around his hip and to his front.

He took a step back. _Furniture, remember?_

She laughed and took his hand. _Come along, I have something for you._

_What is it? Cheese?_

_No._ She led him to the door of Zevran's room. _I'm shutting you out, love. Wait here._

_Don't go—_

She slipped through the door and into the empty room. Along the wall, she found what she had been searching for, and with a great deal of effort, lifted it from its resting place, and dragged it out, trying to keep the metal edges from scratching the floor. _Open the door, Alistair._

He pulled the door open. The sight before him almost floored him. His eyes widened as he stood before her, mouth agape. _Is…is that Duncan's shield?_

_Yes._ She leaned it against the doorway and stood beside him.

He sank onto the floor before the weapon and traced the outline of its crest. Sarah sensed overwhelming grief accompanied by pure reverence and pride. _Thank you_, he managed.

She nodded, joining him on the floor as tears slid down his cheeks. She hugged one of his arms and let him cry until the grief was replaced by a thirst for vengeance she could only recognize as something akin to her need to see Rendon Howe's blood.

_The Landsmeet._

_The Landsmeet._


	90. The Children

**90. The Children  
**Day 5, Orphanage

Alistair was starting to get a headache. Though knowledgeable and well-versed on many topics, he was a simple man. He rarely thought about a lot of things at once. But since this morning his cerebral attention was controlled by multiple trains of thought, and many of them not his own. No wonder Sarah always seemed to have an idea, a plan. The wheels in her mind were constantly turning. At any given moment, she thought about city street layouts, what to have for lunch, the most efficient method of killing an ogre, the number of poisons in her pack, how many steps were between them and the Alienage, and all of those usually were at the same time. And, as always, his name, chanted like a reassuring prayer, interspersed among her other numerous thoughts.

He stopped just outside Wade's Emporium, removing his glove and resting a hand on her shoulder. He watched her carefully, trying to hear his own thoughts amidst all of hers. "I need you to slow down a bit."

_What's wrong? Are you hurt?_ She tilted her hand to look at his legs and feet, searching for injuries.

He shook his head, arching his brow. "No, I'm fine, it's just—it's really confusing for me to hear everything. Do you think that…maybe you could…?"

She met his gaze "Yes, I am getting a little lightheaded myself. I didn't want to say anything because…"

He smiled. "Because you thought it would upset me?"

Sarah nodded.

"Yes, I caught a little bit of that among all the other 'Oh my hair! Alistair's so cute! I need new shoes!'" he mocked in a high-pitched voice.

She shoved his shoulder and he actually had to take a few steps back to keep from falling over.

She laughed. "Good idea. Let's just keep things to a minimum, for now, since we know that it works on demand. But--" she glanced behind her to spot Zevran and Leliana playfully chasing a few chickens. She lowered her voice to a whisper, "But, if we sense darkspawn, we should try it again, to get some practice in before--"

_Before we fight them to the death,_ he supplied, knowing that neither of them wanted to dwell on how soon that last battle would take place, or the very real possibility that they might die in the next week.

She gave a little nod and a hop. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some orders to put in, Ser Templar. Please keep an eye on the children while I'm gone."

He bowed dramatically. "As you wish, my lady."

Sarah quickly stepped into Wade's and casually handed the armorer a long list. "This is a list of repairs that need made to the armor I sent over yesterday, Wade. Please have everything delivered to Arl Eamon's estate by this evening." With a brief nod, the smith indicated his compliance and continued hammering away by the fire. Sarah, without even acknowledging the disgruntled clerk, left the building. She took Alistair's hand and continued on to the Alienage.

As they crossed the bridge into the district, Sarah immediately regretted letting Leliana come with them. The softhearted bard nearly burst into tears at the sight of the first plague victim, who rested against the building as he had the day before. Sarah fell into step beside Leliana, and placed a comforting hand on her back. "Lil, I think these lovely Fereldan citizens could benefit from a nice song or two."

Leliana nodded. "Indeed." She smoothed out her leather armor, and began singing softly, before building into a cheerful song, complete with clever rhymes and an enchanting story about a little boy and his fondness for sweets.

_Alistair,_ she channeled_. There's a templar standing by the warehouse. Can you take Zev and have a chat with him?_

_Yes, dear_.

Then, taking a cue from Wynne's philanthropy, Sarah pulled food and supplies from her pack and set them upon various platforms and doorsteps. She thought it too bold for her to hand the gifts to the elves outright, which would cause them to say 'thank you' and look away, ashamed and piteous. Pity was not something Sarah wanted to convey; instead she wanted her gestures to operate as a temporary apology for not being more diligent in her activism, for not helping the Alienage before it served her own interests. As she surveyed the dismal neighborhood, empty aside from the occasional victim who was too weak to make it home, she was more determined to end the Blight than ever before. She was in a position to do a lot of good, both with her blades and with her diplomacy. Truly, her talents were gifts not to be squandered. She said a silent prayer to her parents and to Duncan, thanking them once again for their sacrifices so that she might continue to make Thedas a better place, a safer place.

Leliana's song changed from one of humor to one of comfort as the bard tried to console herself and those around her.

Zevran and Alistair approached Sarah, with the strange-looking Templar trailing behind them and resting a hand on Alistair's shoulder.

"Ser Otto, this is my fellow Warden, Sarah. Sarah, Ser Otto."

She reached out her hand briefly, before realizing Ser Otto was blind. She quickly took back her hand and bowed her head. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, ser."

Ser Otto appeared amused. "Such manners! Likewise, Warden."

"Ser Otto," Alistair began, "has been watching the Alienage for a month, investigating rumors of an enclave of maleficarum settling in the neighborhood."

Sarah nodded her head unnecessarily and silently asked Alistair if this man was in any shape to fight maleficarum. Alistair shrugged his shoulders and replied with some unfavorable thoughts on the chantry.

"Have you found anything?" she asked lightly.

Ser Otto shook his head. "I have found no evidence of maleficarum in the Alienage. However, there is something else. This place… It's scarred, like me. When I came here, I immediately felt an air of… hopelessness, despair. But over time, I've felt the wrongness runs far deeper than that."

"Kind of like darkspawn," Sarah murmured. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I don't know. But the feeling of wrongness never wanes, and so I attempt to puzzle it out. I don't suppose I could impose upon you?"

Alistair patted the man on the shoulder. "We'll gladly help," he said easily.

"I've actually found some rather strange things here in front of the orphanage, Ser Otto, including bloodstains that smell like sulfur and the corpse of a rabid dog," Sarah offered gravely

Ser Otto nodded knowingly. "Yes, the orphanage. About a week ago there were some unseemly events there and guards stormed the building. It's been locked up ever since."

Sarah's eyes grew wide. "Stormed the orphanage? And what of the children?"

The templar shook his head. "I'm afraid I do not know…"

Sarah ran her hand through her hair, making a nervous mess of Leliana's careful work. She glanced at the bard to spy her making lighthearted conversation with a few young elf-women by Valendrian's house. "Well, we should investigate the orphanage then. With your leave, Ser Otto, my friends and I will accompany you into the building."

"But the door is still locked…"

Alistair chuckled. "Do not worry, my friend. Locks and darkspawn are our specialty." He offered Sarah an indicative nod and she turned to the door, deftly picking the iron lock and tossing it to the ground.

Before opening the door, she took one more look at Leliana. She turned to Zevran. "Zev, will you stay with her? I don't think she should--"

Zev smirked. "Time alone with the voluptuous bard? How can I resist?" He pranced away, keeping one dagger drawn, his eyes continuously scanning the dark corners and walls.

"Thanks."

Ser Otto paused before the door. "You don't have any mages with you, do you? There could still be abominations here."

It was Sarah's turn to comfort the man. She rested a gentle hand on his forearm. "I assure you, Ser Otto, there are no mages here. In fact, my friend Alistair was once a templar himself before being recruited to the Wardens."

Ser Otto's face transformed into a soothing smile. "Is that so? Well, that does ease my heart a great deal."

"I am glad to hear it. Shall we?"

Ser Otto nodded, and the two templars followed her through the door.

Sarah's question concerning the fate of the children was instantly answered by the distant cries of lost spirits searching for nursemaids.

"Abominations," announced the templars together.

"And spirits," Sarah added for her own benefit. _They killed the children! Children! Why?_

Alistair simply shook his head. "Let's go."

She nodded in reply, moving forward. Almost immediately, they were attacked by feral dogs that swarmed from small rooms and into the dank hallway. She and Alistair instantly fell into attack mode, exchanging movements and positions almost unconsciously. Ser Otto moved as if he was a young warrior, not an aged templar, and soon the beasts were slain and neither the Wardens nor the Templar had been bitten.

The familiar but gut-twisting sulfuric odor intensified as they traveled through the hallway and wove among rooms to circumnavigate barricades. Each chamber brought a fresh onslaught of lesser shades. Every time a red-orange flesh-colored demon ascended from the floorboards, Sarah was overwhelmed by Alistair's deeply ingrained fear of the evil spirits. The templars' dread and discipline nearly took over her resolve. Instead of spinning and stabbing aggressively, she was tempted to assume a defensive position and dispel the mana in the room. More than ever before, she understood the templar discipline necessary to fight magic. Were it not for his own use of instinctual mana-resistant techniques, the fear could have easily overtaken Alistair. As a result, she had to adopt a similar type of discipline, forcing her mind to disconnect from his so that the fear did not overwhelm her. She had no templar abilities to rely on, just the spinning thrusts of her poison-soaked blades. She trusted the men to disable and distract the shades as she danced on the outskirts of the fighting, using her own special skills to target weak points in the mortal flesh that housed demonic, immortal beings. More than once, she was unable to jump away from the corpses before they exploded, and she was endlessly thankful for the drake scale armor and its fire resistance.

Despite her proximity to the intermittent flames, with a quick glance to Alistair's face, she realized he was sweating a great deal more than her. _I would never let them overcome you,_ she soothed. He met her determined eyes, and found a small comfort. _I'm not the only one with a protector_, she added with a wink. His face relaxed slightly and one corner of his mouth lifted into a resistant smile.

"This way," gestured Ser Otto, taking the lead. "I sense a dark power ahead…" The Wardens flanked him on either side and followed him into a room that seemed to have once served as a large dining area.

"This!" the elder Templar shouted, arms upraised. "This is the center of it!"

The floor under their feet vibrated, nearly causing the heavily armored templars to fall over. A dark, soul-eradicating voice trembled in Sarah's ears.

"Leave, mortal. You do not belong here!"

Ser Otto steadied himself and widened his stance. "I command you show yourself, demon! Hide in the shadows no more!"

Sarah coughed as the dried stench of rotten eggs and burning flesh tinged her throat. At her feet a small pool of red gradually morphed into a giant pile of scarlet as the figure formed in front of her. Before she could leap away, Alistair grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him, then instantly dropped her wrist and arched his hands to form a ball of grey-white dust that he shoved into the demon.

Ser Otto's hands echoed Alistair's holy smite and both the templars continued casting towards the evil before them. Sarah stealthily sprinted to the rear of the abomination. She was able to stab through its skin at least ten times before it glided its tentacles along the floor, turning to face her. Instantly, she stunned it and sailed her blades beautifully through the air and into the flesh with a chorus of satisfying _splishes_, causing the creature to teeter backwards, where it met the upheld blades and shields of the diligent templars. With a few more stabs at the base of the fiend, it dissolved into the blood-soaked floor and Sarah jumped away, landing on a charred table a few feet behind her. She crouched catlike on the burnt wood until the flesh exploded in the room, the flames momentarily blinding her.

She blinked furiously, trying to decipher images among the shadows and ash. She saw no movement, only the excruciatingly slow settling of the dust around her.

_Are you all right, my love?_ He asked.

_Yes, Alistair. You?_

_Yes._

She blinked again, and her eyes were able to find the outlines of the templars across from her. Alistair was standing upright and breathless, but Ser Otto was squatting, his hands clutching at his face.

"Ser Otto?" she asked hesitantly, hopping quietly down from her perch on the table.

"It is gone. The evil is vanquished," he gasped. "Alas…so am I." He fell forward onto his head, his body collapsed onto his shield. He did not make another sound.

She approached his sunken body, reaching for his neck to find a pulse.

_Don't. He's gone. Don't touch him._

She flinched, pulling her hand back. _Wha-what happened to him?_

_The spirit. He absorbed the spirit with his own, killing it and himself._

_Why? We nearly had it._

_No, it was too powerful. Blood magic, _he groaned with distaste and remorse.

"Is blood magic really that powerful? To collapse souls together?" she asked, shutting off her thoughts for a moment.

"Some of it is. That is why the chantry is so adamant on controlling magic."

"And here I thought it was a power lust thing," she said lightly.

"Well it's that, too," he mused. "Come on, let's go." He reached for her hand.

She shook her head. _Just a moment._ She squatted next to Ser Otto's body once more. _Your sacrifice will not be in vain, ser. May the Maker keep you and see your soul to peace_. She rose and found Alistair's outstretched hand. Though she wanted to, she would not let herself cry.

* * *

_AN: Yes, yes I know that's not quite what happened in the game, but it made for a good chapter, right? :) And thanks to my awesome beta! Also, a special word to the "anonymous" reviewer **noor**, who has left me some very kind reviews, but no way to reply :(. So, here's my public "thanks!" _

_The poll is still open, and apparently the "happy ending" and Sarah's sacrifice are running neck-in-neck. Cast your vote soon!  
_


	91. Renewed Promises

_AN: Many thanks to my beta, SpiritWarrior22. If my story were Sarah's hair, you would no doubt be Leliana!_

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Renewed Promises  
Day 5, Nightfall**

Zeveran got off lucky. Well, as far as Sarah was concerned. She could not deny she was angry with her friend, despite his well-intended heroics, but now any hope of more time alone with Alistair was quickly fading. Zevran was banished from the inside of the estate unless accompanied by one of the Wardens. Well, Sarah reasoned, it was more than a generous punishment, given that Zevran had threatened to kill the Arl. That the assassin was even still allowed in the castle, albeit under constant supervision, attested to Eamon and Teagan's trust in her. And though Sarah loved Alistair dearly, and treasured every moment with him, she could not let Zevran, former slave, sleep in the grounds alone, as if he were some discarded family pet. Fortunately, or unfortunately, when the rest of Sarah's party realized the Wardens and Zevran were camping on the grounds instead of sleeping indoors, they committed themselves to the greater good, despite Morrigan and Shale's protests, and moved outside as well.

As a result, Sarah's plans were disrupted. Instead of enjoying an evening with all her friends in the common room, and looking forward to a night alone with her templar, she was outside, next to a bonfire, waiting for Sten and Alistair to return with Wade's shipment. She paced, attempting to remain lighthearted, but failing with each step. In two days would come the Landsmeet. What was to happen after that, she was not sure. But she did know that things would not be easy. How she was going to bring herself to lead her friends into a war with darkspawn, she did not know. She valued each of her companions, from her beloved templar to the dwarven oaf. How could she ask them to follow her into certain death? She doubted any of them would turn away now, though. For whatever reason, they were still committed to her cause, still committed to her leadership. So, she had been planning this night since they left Orzammar, had been saving her coin for this ceremony. If she could not keep them from the final battle, she was going to at least make sure everyone was well-protected when they got there.

_Maker, Sarah, how much armor is in this crate? _

She smiled a little and continued to pace. _I'm leading an army, Ser Templar. One can't afford to skimp on the necessities._

_I hope I get something out of this_. He flashed an image of her own uncovered body lying atop their bed.

She stopped pacing and blushed furiously. _Stop, please. How often do you think of me like that? Can't I at least have a robe on? Or be covered with a blanket?_

_It's my fantasy, I get to decide what you wear. Or don't wear, as the case may be._

_Fantasy? Not reality? Well, I suppose you can continue fantasizing, if you enjoy that more…_

Just then, Alistair and Sten stumbled into camp, lugging a huge crate between them, and Sarah stopped channeling and focused on the supplies before her. Spying the large parcel, her other companions gradually wandered into the circle, interested to see what sorts of intriguing items could take up so much room. Sarah defensively stood between the crate and her friends, ushering them into a straight line, as if they were preparing for a military inspection. Alistair joined her before the crate, cementing himself as a first lieutenant to her general.

She turned from Alistair and paced, yet again, before her companions, swallowing a small lump in her throat. Finally she stopped walking and faced them. "My friends, we have been through a lot together. Each of you has your own reason for being here, but, I want to let you know that after the Landsmeet, my and Alistair's mission to end the Blight will become more difficult than anything we have faced so far. If you find yourself at all hesitant to accompany us, please know that I will not think less of you, should you decide to leave. None of you have a commitment other than the one you place on yourself." She paused, examining their faces in turn. As she met each set of eyes, they returned her gaze with resolute determination. A small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. "If, however, you decide to follow us to the end, I would like to offer you a reward for your sacrifice."

Their expressions remained unchanged, so Sarah continued. She reached into her pack, which was resting near the crate, and removed a large sheet of folded parchment.

"Shayle, do you wish to stay?" she asked, approaching the golem.

Slowly turning her stone head, Shayle spoke. "It is too interesting to leave just yet. So I think I will stay."

"Thank you," Sarah replied. "Now, I am at a loss for what sort of armor to give a golem, or even if you could wear armor…but I do have this." She handed the parchment to Shayle. "It is a tracing I took from Caridain's lair, a list of all your kin who sacrificed themselves to the Anvil."

"It…has…offered me a gift better than armor. I thank you."

Sarah reached into the crate again, pulling out black and gold steel-plated topsider armor. "Oghren, a gift from me to you." A small smile touched her lips as she looked down at the dwarf. "For all the times you never got me drunk." Oghren ran his hands over the steel, admiring its craftsmanship.

"Well Warden, I may have to try _not_ getting you drunk more often."

To Sten went traditional Qunari berasaad armor, which Sarah found by chance when she slew a Qunari mercenary who was working for Loghain. Sten looked at the armor in his hands, and Sarah thought she saw a ghost of a smile in his expression, though it was gone just as quickly as it came.

"Thank you, kadan."

To Wynne went the first of two white staves of Dalish make, crafted with light but durable wood infused with lyrium. Wynne smiled and held the staff in her hands, her eyes glistening.

"Thank you. I will be sure to cherish it always." The mage pulled Sarah into a hug, and young Warden was reminded of her own mother's gentle touch, Maker bless her soul.

Holding back another set of tears that threatened to surface, Sarah turned to Morrigan and handed her a similar staff. The witch simply smiled and thanked her for such a fine gift.

To Leliana went perhaps the longest-kept gift, Dalish armor crafted from the ironbark Sarah found while in the Brecilian forest. The armor was slightly different from traditional the Dalish custom, in that instead of being dyed with the clan's colors, it was dyed purple and green.

"My favorite colors…" murmured the bard as she unwrapped the armor.

"For my favorite Orliesian," Sarah smiled.

To Zevran went fire-resistant, drakeskin leather armor, completed by Wade just that morning.

The elf shrugged, smirking. "Well, it's no Antivan leather, but I suppose it will do."

Sarah flashed him a playful glare. "When the archdemon starts breathing fire, you'll appreciate that drakeskin, my friend, even though it smells a great deal better than whatever you Antivans cook up."

He offered a light chuckle and ran his fingers along the armor's edges, with only the hint of appreciation showing on his face.

Finally, Sarah turned to her templar, presenting him a large bundle. He unwrapped it quickly, revealing a shining silver-white breastplate. He held it up to the flames, and the pristine, polished metal glistened in the firelight.

"It is called the Armor of Diligence," Sarah explained. She stood next to him admiring the armor's beauty. "Wade tells me that it is very old, yet he found not a spot of rust on it. Like everyone elses armor, the smith crafted it especially for its new owner." She smiled and ran her hand along his forearm. "If you'll look closely, I had it engraved with--"

"Duncan's crest," he said, finding the faint markings on the left shoulder and tracing them with his fingers. He turned to face her, his expression soft and expectant.

"Yes," she affirmed, wrapping her arm around him and giving him a brief hug. She met his eyes. _Duncan would be proud to have you display his family's coat of arms_,_ Grey Warden._

_And honored I will be to wear it._

"But what of your armor?" the bard chirped, standing on her tiptoes and looking into the crate.

Sarah took a few sidesteps blocking Leliana's view. "For that, you will have to wait until morning," she taunted. "Immediately following breakfast we begin training. Some of you have not lifted a finger since we arrived here," she eyed Oghren, "except to consume multiple pints of ale. I expect your muscles have softened. Also, you have new armor and staves to break in."

They replied with a chorus of playful groans, causing everyone, aside from Shayle, Sten, and Morrigan, to erupt in lighthearted laughter.

* * *

After some fond reminiscing by the fire, the Wardens' makeshift army turned in for the night, leaving Sarah and Alistair sitting side by side before the campfire. He leaned against the sturdy crate, and she moved to sit between his outstretched legs. Wrapping his arms around her, Alistair rested his chin on her soft hair. He delighted in the rise and fall of her stomach beneath his arms, and faintly remembered how close she had come to death those many months ago. With a soft chuckle, he recalled his convoluted embarrassment and hope when she asked him to help her bandage her wound.

In those days, he never imagined that he would get this close to her, that she would rest in his arms night after night. Instead he would take pleasure in the small things, the clasp of her hand around his, the flippant wave of her fingers along his forearm, the shy glances she made in his direction when she thought he wasn't looking. The memory of his bashful self made him smile. To think he had almost been too scared to hand her that withering rose, or been too self-effacing to ask her for a kiss, and instead wandering drunken in the woods and trying to steal one from her. If it weren't for Leliana...

_What about Leliana?_ She asked, forcing Alistair to realize he had left the last part of his thoughts unguarded.

_Leliana, my dear, is the reason we fell in love._

_Oh, did she reject you, causing you to run to my open arms? _She joked_._

He chuckled._ Not quite. That time...that long week after I tried to kiss you in the woods, I convinced myself that you hated me. So I avoided you at all costs, not wanting to anger you more. Then, Leliana, in her knowing way, gave me a long lecture on persistence. _He offered a small, incredulous laugh_. She told me that even though you wouldn't admit it, you missed me and were anxiously waiting for me to apologize before you would offer your forgiveness and return my half-hearted attempt at courtship._

Sarah giggled. _Wow, I never spoke a word of that to her, yet--_

_She was exactly right?_

_Yes._

_Thank the Maker for Leliana, then._

_A hundred times over_. She turned her head upwards to look at him.

He smiled, his eyes soft and wistful, as if he were simultaneously that awkward suitor and her betrothed. He kissed her slowly, gently, memorizing the scent and taste of her minty breath and lips. He broke the kiss, forcing her eyes to open and meet his. He studied the way the firelight danced across her face, treasuring every part of her adoring expression.

She turned her head forward, leaned against his chest, and released a contented sigh_. It was my birthday today._

Alistair's muscles immediately constricted. _What? You didn't tell me? I could have bought you something._

She shook her head, tickling his chin. _No, no. I already have everything I could ever want right here_. She pulled his hands tighter around her and rested her palms atop his knuckles.

He exhaled quickly. _You know, I just realized that I don't even know how old you are._

_Twenty-three, as of this morning._

_You're older than me, by fourteen months—_

_Then that means I missed…when was your birthday, Alistair? Why didn't you say anything?_

_Remember, in Redcliffe, when you gave me my mother's amulet?_

_Yes, of course._

_I turned twenty-two that day._

_Good. I don't owe you a gift then_, she smiled.

_Well….you could get me some cheese. _He grinned sheepishly down at her as she grinned and rolled her eyes.

_I swear…you and your cheese. _She leaned up and planted another kiss on his lips. _I love you, Ser Templar._

_And I you. _Alistair pulled her closer to him, relishing the quiet moment they were sharing. _Happy birthday, my beautiful rose._


	92. A Dream Deferred

**A Dream Deferred**  
Day 6

* * *

Alistair stirred awake to find himself alone in their tent. She was plagued by the dreams. Again. He was worried where she went to, and for that matter, why she did not wake him. He rested a hand on her side of the bed to find that it was slightly warm. She had not left that long ago. Yawning, he sat up and stretched his limbs as much as he could in the small structure. He crawled to the tent flap, and pried it open, expecting to find her standing or sitting near the fire. All he saw were the red embers of the simmering flames.

He slipped on his shoes and shirt, and stepped out of the tent. It was barely morning; the air was hazy and chilled, hinting at some overnight rainfall. Everyone else was still asleep, save Shayle, who had wandered into the adjacent quarter to squelch the morning song of some unfortunate birds. Alistair took a deep breath and shook his arms by his sides.

_Sarah?_

He faintly sensed her heavy breathing as she spoke to him. _I'm running through the grounds, my love._

_Are you okay?_

_Yes, I just need to clear my head. Why don't you try on your new armor? I'll see you at camp in a bit._

She closed off, keeping him from continuing their silent conversation. He ambled back into the tent and untied the muslin that covered the Armor of Diligence. While he had admired the breastplate's craftsmanship last night, he never removed the armor from its parcel or examined it very closely. He sat on the center of the bed and placed the armor in front of him. Again, he traced the crest, whose etching was faint and unobtrusive. Running his hand over the metal's expertly shaped angles, he noted how smooth and solid it felt. Finally, he lifted it from the stack. It weighed the same as his splintmail armor, but felt much stronger. As he was about to pull the breastplate over his head, something slipped out of the armor and fluttered to the floor.

He looked down, spying a ruby-colored lily. Setting the armor to the side, he picked up the vibrant flower and examined it closely. Six leaf-shaped petals met at the stem, where three slender yellow stalks grew. He lifted the flower to his nose and took a deep breath, absorbing its pleasant scent. He smiled at the simple gift, and at Sarah's playful joke, for in Fereldan this particular lily signified virginity, and in Orlais it signified kingliness.

Fully aware that seasoned warriors were not supposed to carry around dainty flowers, Alistair tucked the lily in the pocket of his new breastplate. Then, he finally pulled the armor over his head, realizing that the flower rested directly over his heart. This caused him to smile and to wonder if she had planned that little coincidence. He shook his head and pulled the rest of the armor on, unsurprised to find that it fit him perfectly.

Soon after that, Sarah returned to the camp and greeted Alistair as he swallowed his last bit of breakfast cheese. When he heard her approach he turned around and met her with a wide smile.

She stopped in her tracks and blatantly gawked at him. _My, my, Ser Templar. You look ravishing in that armor._ It was not a lie or an exaggeration. The breastplate's unique design featured an arching scoop across his chest, making his shoulders appear broader and his stomach thinner. A slight illusion, perhaps, but she knew his real figure was not very far removed from this tantalizing vision. _You see, there are ways to think about your love without having them lay naked on the bed_, she teased.

He hid a small chuckle. _What can I say? You're more creative than I am._ He cocked his head and arched one eyebrow. _Wait, isn't that your old armor? Didn't you get yourself something new?_

She resumed walking and shook her head. _Honestly, my love, this is the best armor I've ever had. I asked Wade to make a few repairs and add some extra heat salve to the padding, but that's about it. _She arrived beside him and wrapped her arm around his waist. She met his eyes. _Besides, you do such an efficient job of taking this armor off; I wouldn't want to force you to relearn with another set._

Alistair, though tempted, was not in the mood to joke about armor. _Sarah, you need to make sure you're protected. This is not something to be flippant about._

She placed a comforting hand on his chest. _Yes, I know, Ser Templar. I asked Riordan and he said that drakescale armor was the best choice when going to face the archdemon._

_If that's true, why didn't you give everyone drakescale armor? _

_Because not everyone is going to face the archdemon_.

He took a step back and put a hand on each of her shoulders, looking down at her. _Then why didn't you give **me **drakescale armor?_

She returned his gaze with her default stern expression. _Because, my warrior, drakescale armor is too weak for you. The sort of blows you encounter trying to protect the rest of us—trying to protect me—would rip through the scales in seconds._

_Then…you weren't considering fighting the archdemon without me?_

She shook her head and pulled him against her. She squeezed him so tightly, he could barely breathe. Without conscious words, she replayed her most recent nightmare: _The archdemon saunters towards them, its scorching breath causing them to sweat profusely and feel faint. As the beast comes closer, Sarah runs under it, positioning herself to attack its weaker underside. Alistair, however, remains still, taunting the demon so as to distract it from the female Warden's advances. Sarah, unable to move quickly enough, watches in horror as the archdemon grips Alistair in its jaw and bites him in half. Then, seeming to mock her, it spits Alistair's broken corpse onto the ground and incinerates him with blinding blue flames._

He could say or think little beyond telling her that he promised to be careful. He kissed the top of her head and apologized for doubting her intentions.

Soon, the Wardens' companions began to wake up and gather at the campfire. The morning and the afternoon became a fuzzy blur as Sarah conducted combat training and everyone broke in their new armor and staves. For Sarah, the day moved much too quickly. Sunset became dusk, dusk became twilight, and twilight became darkness. And with the darkness came more dreams.

Long after the others had left for their own beds, Sarah remained by the campfire, her muscles tense, her eyes wide, and her heart pounding. Even though she sent him no messages or even told him with words of her fear, Sarah's dutiful Templar remained by her side. He took her trembling hand, and kissed her chilled cheek. As the night wore on, he left her side only once, to return seconds later with a blanket. He wrapped it and his arm around her, and eventually she fell asleep against his chest a few hours before dawn.

As for Alistair, bastard prince of Fereldan, sleep did not come at all, for his greatest nightmare was about to come true. Only instead of concerning a demonic dragon, this nightmare brought with it a gilded crown.

* * *

**Elsewhere in Fereldan**

Unbeknownst to the junior members of his order, Riordan left immediately following their meeting yesterday morning. He had heard of rumors claiming a group of soldiers had somehow escaped the horde when it overtook the South. Traveling the entire day and nearly the entire night, Riordan finally stumbled onto the soldiers' trail. He followed it into the forest, miraculously avoiding and evading any straggling darkspawn. Riordan tracked the soldiers deep into the woods, and eventually found five men camping in an abandoned cabin.

Riordan introduced himself to the leader, who appeared to be of the noble birth. He carried himself in such a way as to denote a regal upbringing, and was more than willing to tell the Grey Warden of their travels. The five soldiers had been scouting in the Kocari Wilds when the horde attacked Ostagar. Upon arriving at the field of battle, the scouts were preparing to enter the fray when they were overtaken by Loghain's retreating troops. The leader, fearing treachery on the part of the Teyrn of Gwaren, ordered his men to seek shelter in the forest, where they came upon a strange, sunken-faced mage who led them from the Wilds into the Brecilian forest. The soldiers had been living in the forest, trying to make their way north to warn the nobility of Loghain's intents. However, despite the soldiers' strong resolve, the Forest proved to be all but navigable, forcing them to travel only in the brightest daylight. As a result, they were only able to travel a few miles each day. They were further troubled by the encroaching bleakness of the approaching darkspawn horde, which seemed to have conquered all in its path.

As Riordan listened to this tale, he sensed something familiar in the nobleman, though he could not quite place it. Upon the completion of his tale, however, the leader gave the senior Grey Warden an expectant smile, as the soldier was glad to see a new face after many months of isolation.

That smile was the spark Riordan's memory needed. "My good ser," began the Warden, "Do you, by chance, know of the Lady Cousland of Highever?"

The nobleman, whose eyes went dark, pursed his lips and cleared his throat. "Lady Cousland, as in Sa--" His voice gave, preventing him from finishing the question. He only stared at the floor, attempting to mask his emotion by bowing his head.

"Yes, ser, I mean Lady Sarah Cousland. She is but a couple days' journey from here. In Denerim preparing for the Landsmeet."

The nobleman blinked and slowly looked up. "You mean, Warden, that Lady Cousland lives?"

"Then you do know her?" Riordan prodded.

He nodded and swallowed thickly. "She is my sister."


	93. The Landsmeet

**Chapter 93  
**The Landsmeet

* * *

Sarah woke, feeling warm and safe. No dreams. She sighed and turned her head to spy her templar staring at the dying fire, his eyes dark and pensive. She shifted closer to him, placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on his cheek, and greeted him with a gentle morning kiss. _You will be a great king, my love. Everyone will adore you._

She pulled back slightly to see him offering her a sad smile. _Of course you would say that._ He reached a hand to her cheek. _You're a bit keen on me, you know. That makes you partial_.

She leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder, and placing her hand on his chest. _Hasn't anyone ever told you that I have excellent taste?_

He placed a finger under her chin, lifted up her head, and returned her gentle kiss. _Are you ready, my dear?_

She nodded and stood up. _Let's go kill Loghain._

* * *

There was not much to it, actually. Three simple goals. One: end the civil war. Two: Crown the new king. Three: convince everyone she should rule beside him. She had overcome greater obstacles before, right? Yet, she was still shaking, almost as nervous as she had been at her first dance party, clad in a white dress and a list of suitors a mile long. In those days she faintly dreamed of marrying for love, though she preferred to not think of marrying at all. Her dream was to stay in Highever, leading her brother's army and spoiling his children when his back was turned. Yet, her life had taken an unexpected turn. Instead of protecting her family's castle, she was going to save her entire country. Instead of passively marrying a random nobleman, she longed for a passionate lifelong commitment with the love of her life: the future king of Ferelden.

This future king, though as nervous as she was, gripped her hand tightly and sent her reassuring thoughts. _My love, all our work has led us to this moment. You have fought bravely, with your blades and your wit, and now your efforts will pay off. I have no doubt you will convince the nobility to listen to you. And no matter what happens, remember, I am by your side._

_I love you, Alistair_, she channeled as they reached the front entry of the royal palace. She gave the heavy door a shove and stepped across the threshold, followed by her dutiful templar, her loyal war hound, and her sly assassin.

The foyer appeared to be empty, at first, but Sarah froze when she saw Ser Cauthrien and her silver-armored guards emerge from their hiding places behind the entry room's pillars.

"I am here to stop you from going to the Landsmeet, Warden. Teryn Loghain is the only man who can lead us against this Blight."

Sarah trembled at the sight of the guards, the same guards who attacked her at fort Drakon. She shook her head, forcing those dark thoughts aside, and swallowed. Taking one more step forward, she met Cauthrien's angry glare with a concerned expression. "Do you truly not see what Loghain has become, Cauthrien?"

The lieutenant's expression softened. "I have had my…doubts, of late…"

Sarah took one more step forward. "Then let me stop him. Let me end this civil war and save the country we both love."

Cauthrien bit her lip and looked down, thinking. Sarah tensed, and waited for her response. Finally, Cauthrien looked up and nodded. "Very well." She called off her guards and knelt before the Wardens. When Sarah walked by, Cauthrien stood and took Alistair's arm. She placed a small piece of parchment on his gloved hand and whispered, "A list of the guards who…"

Alistair, eyes forward, nodded and slipped the paper into his armor. He followed his leader into the Landsmeet.

Almost as soon as they entered the room, the voices erupted into a chorus of screams, applause, and boos. She was supposed to unite these people? Why were they screaming? She glanced behind her and found Alistair's eyes. He nodded, urging her forward.

Loghain was in the center of the room, moving his arms wildly and shouting about puppets. "Ah! And here we have the puppeteer! Tell us Warden: How will the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince?"

A puppeteer? She was a puppeteer? To Alistair? She hid a small grin. Yes, perhaps that accusation was true. But what of Orlais? How did Orlais even come into this? She glanced around, trying to read the faces around her, trying to devise a strategy.

In her continued silence, Loghain spoke again. "What did they offer you? How much is the price of Ferelden honor now?"

She had to put an end to these accusations, had to counter with a foreseeable threat. Perpetuating this argument would only prolong the debate. Arms hanging at her sides, Sarah approached Loghain and stood beside him, quickly flanked by Dog, Alistair, and Zevran. She turned to face the nobility. "The Blight is the threat here, not Orlais!"

She spied some movement in the rafters. One of the arls spoke. "There are enough refugees in my bannorn now to make that abundantly clear."

Then, the grieving Arl Wulff stood. "The south has fallen Loghain, will you really continue this war when the Blight is upon us?

Loghain eyed the speakers in turn, settling his gaze on Wulff "The Blight is indeed real, Wulff. But do we need Grey Wardens to fight it?"

Sarah scoffed and folded her arms. _What have I been doing for the past year? Planning a tea party? _

Alistair snorted, trying to hold back laughter. Sarah turned to smirk at him.

Loghain turned from Wulff and paced before the nobility. He gestured to Sarah and Alistair "They claim that they alone can end the Blight, yet they failed spectacularly against the darkspawn at Ostagar, and they ask to bring with them four legions of chevaliers."

Alistair shifted.

_Be still, my love. Not yet._

Loghain continued, "And once we open our borders to the Chevaliers, can we really expect them to simply return from whence they came?"

Again with the Orlesians. She needed proof; she needed to change the topic. She pulled the slavery documents from her pocket. Slowly, she unfolded them and read them aloud. The room grew quiet as she recited the list of signatures on the document. She folded the paper and placed it back in her armor. "You," she glared at Loghain, "sold Fereldan citizens into slavery to fund your war."

That did it. Another arl approached Loghain. "What's this? There is no slavery in Fereldan. Explain yourself."

Loghain backed away, waving his hands dismissively. "There is no saving the Alienage. Damage from the riots has yet to be repaired. There are bodies still rotting in their homes. It is not a place I would send my worst enemy. There is no chance of holding it if the Blight comes here. Despite what you may think, Warden, I have done my duty. Whatever my regrets may be for the elves--"

"Nonexistent," Zevran hissed behind her

Loghain stood erect. "I have done what was needed for the good of Fereldan."

Alistair shuffled again, she felt his wrath draping over her. She had to remain calm, yet she could not stop herself. "Abandoning Cailin was for the greater good?"

Loghain towered over her. "Warden, Cailan was Maric's son. Had there been any chance of reaching him at Ostagar, I would have fought to my last breath to save him."

Sarah thought of Duncan, who did fight to his last breath trying to save the king. She clenched her hands into fists. No, she was not going to cry.

Loghain offered a light chuckle, again walking in circles around her. "But was I to sacrifice thousands of other lives when I saw that hope was gone? You Grey Wardens with your stories of valor. Stories of heroic single-combat with archdemons. You made Cailan believe war was an easy matter of riding out in his new armor and collecting a victory that sat ripe and waiting for him. His death was only the beginning of your crimes here, Warden. What have you done with my daughter Anora?"

He wasn't really doing this was he? Have her captured then accuse her of taking the queen?

She paced, taking long strides in front of the despot. Alistair eyed her closely, realizing she appeared stronger than he ever imagined possible. He looked to the crowd, watching their expressions change from uncertainty to anger, and that anger that was directed to the large teryn instead of his little Warden. She had them eating out of her hands.

"What have I done?" she asked, waving her hand flippantly before pointing a finger at the traitor. "I've protected her from you!"

Loghain shook his head, laughing maniacally. "You took my daughter--our queen--by force, killing her guards in the process. What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still live?"

Zevran smirked, spying the blonde queen walking forward from the rafters.

"I believe I can speak for myself," Anora began. She turned to the nobility. "Lords and ladies of Ferelden, hear me. My father is no longer the man you know. This man is not the hero of River Dane. I would have already been killed, if not for this Grey Warden."

Sarah hid a smile, she had even fooled Anora. She stepped alongside the queen and nodded. "Loghain is not to be trusted."

Loghain sighed dramatically and looked to his daughter. "So the Warden's influence has poisoned even your mind, Anora?"

Then, before Sarah could say anymore, Eamon called for the vote. The arls and banns rose in turn, all but one pledging their support to the small, short-haired Grey Warden. Sarah had a feeling that he would gain a some much needed support for this, but she did not expect to gain nearly unanimous consent.

Unable to keep from smiling, she turned to the defeated teryn. "The Landsmeet is against you, Loghin. Step down gracefully." _Ha ha! You lose! _She was smug, she could not help it. Alistair unsuccessfully tried stifling a snicker.

Loghain yelled. "Traitors! Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives?"

Alistair's thoughts crept into her mind. _A duel. Tell him to duel._

Sarah folded her arms again. "Fine. Call off your men and we'll settle this honorably."

Loghain made no attempt to hide his delight. Fighting a foolhardy Grey Warden would be an easy task, and it would prove how unnecessary the Wardens were to ending the Blight. "Then let us end this." He shook his head. "Let the Landsmeet declare the terms of the duel."

One of the arls set the terms, a fair fight, first to surrender loses.

Loghain sneered at her "Will you face me yourself, or have you a champion?"

She swallowed and squared her shoulders. She turned to her templar, who nodded. "Alistair is my champion."

Sarah and the others left the center of the room, where the two warriors met, circling each other.

_Be careful, my love._

Alistair didn't respond, he unsheathed his sword and took a step forward. Then before he realized what happened, he was lying on the ground. He scrambled to his feet, only to be met with the thrust of Loghain's massive shield. Alistair stumbled backwards, already breathless and weary. _Help me!_ he begged.

Sarah's anxiety doubled, feeling Alistair's fear added to her own. Her hands shook at her sides. Instantly, Dog and Zevran appeared on either side of her. Zev took one of her hands and she rested the other on Dog's head. She took a deep breath and watched her templar.

_Duck! Step right. Overpower. Sword thrust. Good! He's getting tired!_

Alistair closed his eyes and followed her commands. He felt a strange, invigorating energy flowing through him, as if he was not one warrior, but two, as if every movement with his sword came with twice as much strength.

_Now! Take him now! Side armor! Shield bash! That's it! Now, left seam—Yes!_

Loghain stumbled backwards and doubled over in pain, clearly admitting defeat. He looked up to Alistair "A man is made by the quality of his enemies. Maric told me that once. I wonder if it's more a compliment to you or me. There is some of him in you after all. Good."

Sarah sprinted to Alistair's side, and she was followed by Eamon, and finally Anora, who looked desperately from Alistair to her father.

Alistair never took his eyes off the collapsing regent. "Forget Maric," he sneered. "This is for Duncan." Sword upraised, he glanced to Sarah.

_Kill the traitorous bastard!_

With one stroke of his sword, Alistair Theiren beheaded Loghain Mac Tir, taking vengeance for the death of King Cailin and Duncan, senior Grey Warden.

Arl Eamon, ever the purveyor of staying on task, sauntered to the Wardens. "So it is decided. Alistair will take his father's throne."

Alistair sheathed his sword, his stern glare replaced by a worrisome wide-eyed expression. "We haven't decided that, yet," he observed quietly.

Anora, speaking too soon for Sarah's liking, stepped forward. "He refuses the throne. Everyone here has heard him. I think it's clear then, that he abdicates in favor of me."

Eamon squared his shoulders. "I hardly think you're the appropriate person to mediate this, Anora. Warden, will you help us?"

Eamon trusted her to make the right decision. The fate of Ferelden waited on her word. The fate of the man she loved rested in her lips. _Are you ready, my love?_

_I don't want to. You know that. But it seems we have little choice. If you will stand beside me, I am ready to be king._

Sarah nodded. "Yes, I can settle this."

Eamon, with a gleam in his eye and a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "As the arbiter of this dispute, what is your decision? Who will lead Ferelden?"

She took a deep breath. With one last glance at her Templar, she spoke. "Alistair will be king, and I will rule beside him."

She squeezed her eyes shut. Surely they would riot, they would think her power hungry, manipulative, and conniving. No, there was no way they would let her, the usurped teryn of Highever, the unkempt rogue, the tainted Grey Warden, ever be Queen of this great nation. She clenched her fists, trying desperately to hold back tears, lecturing herself for being too bold, yet again.

_My love…_

She shook her head and stared at her feet, attempting to ignore his consolations.

_My love. Please. Look up._

Hesitantly, she lifted her head. Everyone was standing, smiling, applauding. For her? For the unladylike Grey Warden who wanted to be their queen?

Eamon placed a hand on her back. "You have made good on your promises, my lady," he whispered.

She nodded, the tension leaving her fingers and relief unmasking the smile that pulled on her lips_._

Then, Eamon took a few steps forward forward, addressing the former queen. "Anora, you must abdicate the throne for you and your heirs."

She shook her head, resolute and erect. "No, Eamon, I will not do that."

Sarah glanced from Eamon, to Anora, to Alistair. Surely, they would not have to duel Anora, as well…

Alistair, sensing Sarah's consternation, raised his hand. "We will put her in the tower for now. Should I--"

Sarah, hearing Alistair's thoughts before he spoke them, shook her head and looked away, successfully holding back her tears.

"Should I fall."

Eamon nodded, clearly pleased with Alistair's first act as king. "Now--" but before the Arl could continue Alistair placed a hand on his shoulder, and took control of the Landsmeet.

As her templar began to speak, Sarah was surprised to hear him pontificate so loudly, to watch him swagger as if he no longer had an inkling of self doubt. His voice boomed through the large hall, his tone resolute and inspiring, some of his new-found confidence bubbling over and infecting those around him.

"…I shall name Arl Eamon as my regent, and--" he turned to Sarah, offering her a comforting smile. "I name my fellow Warden as the leader of my armies." He paused, taking a deep breath and scanning the expectant faces of the nobles around him. "Lords and Ladies, we will defeat this Blight together, just as Cailin dreamed!"

Another chorus of applause and cheers. Alistair glanced over his shoulder to find Sarah returning his smile. He held out his hand. "Come, my love, let's finish this together."

* * *

_AN: So, I'll just say from here on out I'll be using some non-canon plot devices and such. That way, even if you've made it all the way through the game, there will still be a surprise or two for you._

_Also, sorry for the sluggish updates, but the Doc Manager and the Doc Xchanger have both been kitschy lately. Thanks for your patience!_


	94. Homecoming

**Chapter** **94**

Homecoming

Fergus Cousland was not sure what to expect in the coming hour. He had been warned by Riordan that his little sister had been through a lot since Howe's betrayal, not the least of which was being taken prisoner in Fort Drakon. Riordan glossed over the details, and many of those omissions caused Fergus to envision the worst. He wandered around the common room of Arl Eamon's Denerim estate. Most of the castle's occupants were either at the Landsmeet or preparing for departure to Redcliffe. Fergus, himself without much of anything to pack aside from his armor, which was currently being repaired, and without anyone to speak to, tried to imagine how in Thedas his baby sister had gathered an entire army to fight the Blight.

Well, she hadn't done it entirely on her own. Fergus met some of her companions on his way into the castle, though they did not seem very friendly, especially the black-haired witch, at whom Fergus may have been staring. He was still mourning the loss of his wife, of course, but Fergus was first a man, and that witch was wearing next to nothing. In addition to the apostate beauty, Fergus almost stumbled into a giant Qunari, who only grumbled and glared at the elder Cousland. That was when Fergus decided to stay _inside _the castle as opposed to outside. He would wait until he saw a familiar face before he started asking any more questions.

* * *

After leaving the Landsmeet, Sarah sent Dog and Zevran back to Eamon's estate, with orders to begin preparations for the march to Redcliffe. Alistair was grateful, for this gave him some alone time with his fellow Warden. Having already stowed away her gloves, she gripped his unshod hand and they wandered through the side streets of Denerim. She kept stealing dreamy looks at him, and he avoided catching her eye. This was all happening too fast.

A year and half ago, he was a man without expectations, a man without dreams, a man resigned to a fate chosen for him. He'd carried around the knowledge of his birthright like a secret crime, something he should be ashamed of, yet something that was not his fault and something he could not escape. How was a child supposed to deal with that sort of burden? Ten years old, Isolde in the castle, and Eamon's protective lies threatened to surface. What was the Arl of Redcliffe to do with an orphaned child, a child whose parentage was unclear, at best? Eamon did not have much of a choice really. Yet, what did that matter to a young boy, a loving little child, who considered Eamon his father, Teagan his older brother?

Alistair's first week in the chantry was the start of his purposeless life. What was the use in dreaming, in hoping, if he could never make his own decisions? He was often jealous of Cailin, the brother Alistair only knew as a figurehead. Alistair was jealous that Cailin's life had a clear path, a solidified, honorable purpose, whereas Alistair was one of many templars-in-training, straddling the chasm between commoner and noble like a blind and oblivious tight-rope walker. On which side would he fall? For he had to fall eventually. At first, he tried to be obedient, some ingrained part of his morality told him obedience could lead to happiness. And this young boy, only wanted approval, only wanted to belong, only wanted to be loved. Yet there was no room for family in the chantry. The other templars were too self-righteous, the sisters too distant, and the priests too prone to giving lectures instead of hugs.

So Alistair gave up on expectations, he threw himself into his training, reveling in his ability to get lost in sword fights, appreciating his mind's submission to the methodology of various exercises and sequences. Each time Alistair picked up his shield and sword, he was someone else. No longer the rejected child, the chided underling, the unfaithful parishioner. This new Alistair, was a steadfast fighter, a commanding shield-master, a deft cleanser. For once, Alistair Theirin became the sort of leader he was meant to be. But, when the weapons were taken away from him, he changed back into his passive, brooding alter ego. Without a shield to cover his emotional vulnerability, he developed an acerbic, masking wit. Eventually, Alistair The Student and Alistair The Templar, became pods of repetition: studies conducted at the abbey in the morning, templar training in the afternoon, long hours of solitude in the evening, the welcomed peace of sleep at night.

Considering this, it was no wonder that, upon their second meeting, the younger witch of the wilds called Alistair a weak fool. Alistair was not a man to take charge. Any tendency to decide for himself had been long suppressed, hidden by carefully constructed defenses. He would not let the witch get under his skin. Yet, Morrigan had chided him in one of his weakest moments. His mentor and his brothers were dead. He had been standing outside the shabby hut, waiting for the creak of the door, when Flemeth would announce the death of the little recruit, when she would tell Alistair he was, again, alone in the world. But instead of the scathing apostate, Alistair turned to see his little brown-haired, green-eyed Warden wander into the Kocari wilds. In that moment, when his grief and his happiness seemed to collide and threatened to erupt from his chest, he was tempted to hug her and never let go. Of course, at that point, he did not know he would fall in love with her, he only knew that she represented the hope he dared to cling to.

One look at him, red-faced and holding back tears, she seemed to know exactly what needed to be done. She took the treaties from his hand and read them, asking Flemeth questions as she rifled through the papers. The young, nubile recruit was the exactly the person Alistair needed in that moment. Yet, he knew so little of her, only that she was kind. He did not know her entire family was dead, that her constant scanning of the treeline was a result of her searching for her older brother. No, Alistair was doing well enough to put one foot in front of the other, let alone concern himself with anything aside from the mounting darkness inside of him.

Little by little, he noticed a change. Perhaps it was because the recruit readily took on the burden of leadership, or perhaps it was her stern but comforting words, which simultaneously worked as admonishments and consolations. She gave him small tasks: setting traps, building campfires, fixing the armor. Once she asked him to trace a route on the map, but that ended badly. Instead of finding the armor smith's they wound up at an abandoned well. She did not mock him or lecture him, as he expected. No, she simply patted him on the shoulder and said she was glad they'd stopped because she was thirsty. Of course, Morrigan scoffed and the dog whined, but Sarah gave him an encouraging nod. He dipped the bucket into the water below, pulled it up, and handed her the ladle.

"Mmm, best water I've ever tasted, Alistair. Thank you," she said handing the ladle back to him.

He felt a tiny smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and though it would be some time before he would grin again, a part of his long-buried self confidence found its way to the surface, and he became a better person because of it.

In the coming months, she changed him from a frightened warrior to a reliable protector, from a childish jokester to a careful planner, from a wandering loner to a committed lover…from a rejected bastard prince into a treasured, noble king. There was a power swelling in his heart he never imagined possible, a resolve in his mind he thought was long gone, a determination he had but dared to dream of.

He felt her dexterous fingers absentmindedly massaging the outside of his hand. When had that 10-year-old hopeless oaf become a man worthy of this woman's devotion? A woman who could choose anyone else in the world to love, a woman who no doubt was the desire of others, a woman who had chosen _him_, the silly ex-templar, the flippant junior Warden. She saw him not for the person he was, but who he could be, she found potential where he thought there was none. It was not a forced change, by any means. No, now he was the warrior he'd always dreamed of becoming. But, more importantly, he was loved, he was accepted, faults and all. He'd found a home, finally a home.

In this moment, Alistair realized he was ready to be king. So that's why, instead of continuing their leisurely stroll back to Arl Eamon's estate, the king-elect of Ferelden gripped his fiancé's arm, ordered her to pick the lock of an abandoned store front, and shoved her through the door. Once inside, he slammed the door behind them, locked it, and pulled the curtains closed. He watched her dreamy adoration transfer into a devilish expectancy. Without words, the future king and queen stripped out of their armor and laid themselves on a stack of flour sacks.

Well, if they never produced an heir, it wouldn't be for a lack of trying.

* * *

_AN: Thanks to Whiteshade24, whose insight helped me guide this chapter to something worth reading._


	95. Family Ties

**Chapter 95**  
Family Ties

* * *

Upon Alistair and Sarah's eventual arrival back at the estate, they were ushered inside by Leliana and Zevran, who were both grinning about _something_. The Wardens were told their tent had been packed up and that they were to stay inside the castle. Alistair was not about to argue. A king should be sleeping in a luxurious room, not a small, cold tent. And since they were leaving for Redcliffe early tomorrow morning, he reasoned he would have enough time in the tent in the nights to come.

Sarah, however, was more reluctant, so much so that Alistair had to practically drag her inside.

_But everyone else is outside, it's not fair that we sleep inside—_

Alistair just shook his head._ We deserve some time to ourselves._

_We just had some __**time**__ to ourselves, Ser Templar._

Alistair slinked his arm around her waist and continued ushering her through the castle's entrance.

_I'm not sure I like this "take-charge, Alistair," _she mused.

_You did not seem to mind half and hour ago_, he smirked.

With that, she turned red, and Alistair grinned in triumph. Finally, she gave in and followed his lead, once more.

* * *

Fergus knew that gait, that little giggle. He rose from the chair he had been sitting in, straightening his shirt and adjusting his hair.

* * *

They turned the corner into the common room. Sarah's hands flew to her mouth. _No, no, no, no, no. It can't be! Is it really!?_

"Sister?"

With a little yelp, Sarah flew out of Alistair's grasp and sprinted to Fergus's outstretched arms. She jumped on him, her scale armor poking into his skin through his shirt.

"You're supposed to be dead," she sobbed, hugging her brother tightly and kissing his cheek. "I never thought I'd see you again, dear brother. Where have you been? Are you okay? How did you get here?"

Fergus chuckled. "Dear sister, if you do not get down, I'm afraid I shall collapse."

She stopped crying and smiled, and unwrapped her legs from his waist. Alistair, standing off to the side and fingering the Cousland ring on his left hand, felt Sarah's happiness drape over him. The sense of family she felt when greeting her brother was as comforting as Alistair expected having a family would be. He could not help himself from smiling. Seeing his love so happy and actually feeling her happiness as if it were his own, filled him with a contentment he did not know could exist.

Sarah continued with her rambling questions. "Is anyone else still alive? Did you hear about the king? And Loghain?" she took Fergus's hand and led him to a nearby sofa. "Tell me, dear brother."

Alistair, unsure of where he actually fit in this little reunion, silently took a seat across from the Cousland siblings. He listened as Fergus told his tale of wandering through the woods, being found by Riordan, and finally arriving at Eamon's estate in record time.

"When I'd heard you were still alive, sister, I could not bear to spend another night in those vermin-infested forests." Fergus grinned. "But I have heard your tale is much more exciting than mine. Tell me, what have you gotten yourself into, becoming a Grey Warden, trekking across Ferelden on your own, speaking at the Landsmeet? But first, I wish to know who this man next to you is." Fergus gestured to Alistair, who had not taken his eyes off Sarah's beaming face.

Sarah rose from her seat, inviting the two men to stand as well. Alistair shook Fergus's outstretched hand, as Sarah introduced them. "This, dear brother, is Alistair, my fellow Grey Warden. He was with me at Ostagar, when--"

"When Loghain abandoned the king and the Grey Wardens," Fergus finished, grimacing.

Sarah nodded. "Yes, but the two of us were able to escape, with the help of…a denizen of the Korcari Wilds who…wanted to ensure the Grey Wardens were not wiped out."

Fergus' eyebrow rose as he stared at his sister. He knew she was not telling him the entire truth, though he was not about to question it. "I see…But tell me, dear sister, do all Grey Wardens look at each other as if under an enchantment?" He said, smirking.

Sarah blushed and glanced away. _I can't tell him, love. You tell him._

"Not all," Alistair began, dropping Fergus's hand and taking Sarah's. "Your sister has agreed to--" Maker, now Alistair was having trouble with this. Did he need to ask Fergus's permission? What was the custom for marrying nobility?

"Yes?" Fergus urged.

"My good, ser," Alistair started again. "Your sister has agreed to…to…to…" _Ah, yes, who can say no to the king of Ferelden?_ "Your sister has agreed to be my queen, once the Blight is over." He smiled and looked down to spy Sarah's dreamy expression meeting his own.

"Maker!" Fergus shouted, taking a small step back. He'd heard his sister had helped choose a new king, but he did not know she was to marry him as well, or that this Alistair was to take the throne. "Er, I mean, your majesty—I am—sire—I am honored that you would choose your queen from the Cousland line." Embarrassed and humbled, Fergus took another step back and bowed before the Wardens.

Sarah and Alistair erupted into laughter, and Fergus rose, confused.

_I guess that is something we should get used to, Ser Templar_. Sarah grinned to her husband to be, her eyes shining with a mixture of happiness and laughter.

With a slight nod, Alistair reached a hand to Fergus's shoulder. "I am sure, my lord, that you know, no one chooses your sister unless she first chooses him. It is I who should be thanking her." He turned to Sarah, and slipped the Cousland ring from his finger. "My dear?" he asked placing it in her hand.

She nodded and handed it to Fergus. "It was Father's," she explained. "And now it is yours. Howe has been dealt with, and you are still alive, so the terynir is rightfully yours."

Fergus took the ring from his sister, his eyes watering. "Tell me sister, if you can, what happened…in Highever…after I left."

She motioned for Fergus to resume his seat on the sofa. She sat next to him and gestured for Alistair to sit on her other side. "Howe's men attacked in the middle of the night. Dog woke me, and I was able to get on my armor and collect my weapons before they charged my room. But--" she let out a little sob before taking a deep breath. Alistair put his arm around her shoulders as she leaned against him. "But I was too late to save Oriana…or Oren. By the time I got to their room…"

"Please, sister. Tell me," Fergus begged solemnly.

She took a deep breath. Talking about that night with her brother brought unwanted memories to her mind, like a slap to the face. Event though she had killed Howe, those memories still haunted her. "By the time I got to their room, they were already dead." Alistair gripped her forearm to comfort her. As she told Fergus of that dark night, the memories played through her mind, and through his. Visions of bloodshed, servants slaughtered in their sleep, unarmored house-smiths attempting to fight experienced soldiers. In addition to these heart-wrenching scenes, Alistair also sensed her guilt, her remorse, her regret.

"They all saved me, Fergus. Ser Gilmore, Mother, Father. And Duncan."

Fergus nodded. "You have made their sacrifices more than worth it, sister. Their deaths were not in vain." He held her hand. "But, you said that Howe has been dealt with. How so? At the Landsmeet?"

Sarah shook her head, an evil smirk creeping onto her face. "I killed him. In the dungeon of his own estate. He got what he deserved, Fergus, a dishonorable death at the hands of his enemy."

Fergus, eyes wide, smiled. "I would expect nothing less from you."

She replied with a wide yawn. "Thank you, brother," she mumbled. "Maker…I am tired."

Fergus rose. "Yes, I imagine you are. Perhaps we should say goodnight. We shall have plenty of time to catch up during our walk tomorrow."

_No, Fergus, you're not going anywhere near that darkspawn horde_. "Indeed, brother. Have you been given a room?" She said, standing up as well.

He nodded. "I have, but I think that I will stay in here for a bit. I'm not quite ready to turn in just yet."

"Oh." She glanced to Alistair. "Um, I guess we'll, er, I mean, **I** will see you in the morning." She couldn't very well let Fergus know that she and Alistair were sharing a bed. He would certainly not approve. She did her best to keep from blushing.

Alistair uncomfortably kissed her forehead. "Um, yes, uh…good night, dear…um…"

Fergus laughed, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "Oh, Maker! Little sister, are you blushing? You have no doubt become a woman in my absence, have you not?"

Sarah stared at the floor. No she was not about to talk about this with her _brother_.

Alistair's eyes grew wide with embarrassment, the tops of his ears turned red, causing Fergus to erupt into another fit of laughter.

"Grey Wardens, you are both grown adults. You do not need my permission to do anything." He turned to Alistair. "I only hope you will make an honest woman of her. And I dare say, were my father here, he would not be so…understanding." Fergus smirked, delighting in the innocent embarrassment emanating from the two most powerful people in the entire nation.

Sarah reached for Alistair's hand. "Come, my love. I'm sure my brother no doubt _knew_ his wife before they were ever married."

"Er, right," the templar replied.

Fergus stopped Sarah, frowning. "Make the most of the time you have left, sister. You never know when it may be your last."

She nodded, wondering if her own happiness did not make Fergus's grief that much harder to bear. "I will, dear brother." With that she led her templar to their room, where, thankfully, the broken foot board had been repaired.

* * *

_AN: Special thanks to the best betas ever: SpiritWarrior22 and Whiteshade24!_


	96. A New Approach

**Chapter 96**  
A New Approach

* * *

Alistair waited patiently while Sarah took her bath. She did look very tired, which was not a surprise, considering that she had not slept well the past two nights. So, he gave her first dibs on the washroom, hoping she could get right to sleep.

That was another thing he'd have to add to the list of things to do after the Blight, taking baths together. Except for that one morning, when she surprised him with an unexpected…favor, they had never been in the washroom at the same time. Alistair assumed one of the perks of being king had to be having a large bathtub, perhaps heated with fires underneath the porcelain, lots of pleasant-smelling, sensual concoctions to add to the water, and plenty of room to _move around_.

Alistair sat in chair by the bed and sighed. Yes, perhaps being king would not be that bad. Of course, he knew he was only using these fanciful expectations to keep his mind from the battle ahead. Gradually, he was realizing the seriousness of the situation, the importance of the coming days. The possibility that in a few days' time, he could be dead, _she_ could be dead, both of them slain in a failed attempt to kill the archdemon and stop the Blight. He was thankful for Riordan, at least, who would know what to do so that all three of them had at least a slim chance of surviving. Yes, once the battle started, perhaps the junior Wardens could start deferring to someone else, for a change. That is where the connection would come in to play. He and Sarah would keep each other alive and help protect Riordan.

Alistair turned his head to see Sarah emerge from the washroom, with her robe tied tightly around her. A flood of lovely fragrances followed her into the room. Ginger, Alistair, guessed, and perhaps the faint hint of apple blossom. He rose from his seat and met her at the foot of the bed.

Placing a gentle hand on the back of her wet hair, he kissed her forehead. "Good night, my dear. Sleep well."

"Good night," she mumbled, perhaps too tired to say much more. Without another word she climbed onto the bed and crawled under the blankets, removing her robe and dropping it to the floor once she was covered.

Alistair slipped into the washroom, inhaling the satisfying aroma Sarah had left from using her bath salts. With a fond smile, he noticed that she had lain out fresh towels for him, had placed a towel alongside the tub, and had run him fresh bathwater. He stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the warm, soothing water. He was tempted to take a rather long bath, relaxing in the water and letting it calm his limbs. But the urgency of their early morning departure, willed him to bathe quickly. He needed his rest, too, if only to help Sarah keep order, should her dreams continue plaguing her every night.

After his bath, he dried off, combed his hair, and pulled on a thin pair of pants. Careful to keep the washroom's torchlight from flooding into the semi-dark bedroom and waking Sarah, Alistair pulled the door shut and climbed into bed. Sarah had fallen asleep very quickly; she was lying on her side, facing him. He did his best to slip under the covers without waking her. However, as he tried to reach his arms around her, he noticed something he did not expect.

_My love_, _are you not wearing your gown?_

Then, he felt her tantalizing fingers start dancing across his chest. He found her face in the firelight, and she was smirking.

_So I fooled you, did I?_ She reached across his torso, and pulled the blankets to the side. Planting her hands on the bed, just above his shoulders, she pulled herself on top of him. She sat up and positioned her knees around his hips. She pouted. _Aww, Ser Templar, you're wearing pants._

Alistair, more than willing to play along, despite his fatigue, grinned. _I can fix that, my dear._ Placing one hand behind him on the bed and the other on her hip, Alistair sat up. She leaned forward, pressed her lips against his mouth, and shoved her tongue against his. Feeling the graze of her breasts against his chest, Alistair gasped as his heart began to race and his skin began to tingle with anticipation. He returned her tongue's wandering touches. The hand resting on her hip began to tighten, and she released a little shiver.

_The pants, Alistair_, she reminded him.

_I'm afraid you'll have to help me with those_, he continued kissing her and moved his hand around her waist.

She pulled away from his mouth. _Oh, really? Okay then. But you'll have to let go for a moment._

Slowly, he retracted his hand and laid back down. Still on her knees, she inched back and hovered over his thighs. She glanced down, realizing that the thin pants were barely containing him _Already, Ser Templar?_ She teased.

He smiled back at her. _Can you blame me?_

She shook her head and grinned. Then, slowly, so slowly that she surprised even herself, she pulled his pants down. First, along his hips, then, grazing them across his erection, down his thighs, her fingertips trailing the pants' waistline. When the pants arrived at his knees, she shrugged. _I'm afraid that's all I can do._

_Maker_. He rolled his eyes playfully, shuffled his legs, and used his feet to pull the pants the rest of the way down and kick them off the bed. _How's that?_

_Good job. _She sat on his legs just below his knees and wrapped her right hand around his strong flesh.

He groaned, but sent her an admonishing _No!_

She stopped and let go. _What's wrong? Did I hurt you?_

He shook his head and reached for her hand. _I want __**you**_**, **_my love._ He sat up, and pulled her along with him as he sat against the headboard. He took both her hands and placed them on his shoulders. Then, he gripped her stomach just above her hips, and, surprising her with his strength, lifted her onto him. _I want __**you. **_

She released a low, shocked moan as he filled her completely. She slammed her body against his chest, her torso pressing up to his, her soft flesh molding against his sturdy musculature. She kissed him again. He began lifting her. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Keeping their lips interlocked, she matched his rhythm, using her knees, and leveraging her weight, against his shoulders. They stopped sharing in words, and let their bodies and senses communicate through the taint. When she felt herself approaching the edge of bliss, Alistair would hold her slightly aloft, for a brief second, before continuing, slowly, his commanding motions teasing her insides. So, she returned the favor. When he was about to come, she would press her hands into his shoulders, lift herself up, forcing him to stop again. They continued, for longer than either thought possible, urging themselves to prolong the intimacy, to slow down and treasure each movement, each thrust, each caress. Then, their pulsations began to align, and neither one was tempted to tease the other. Alistair's hands roamed up her back, pressing her closer to him. She wrapped one arm around his shoulders and with her other hand, wove her fingers intohis hair. She raised her hips for one last time, and, with a satisfying descent, pushed them both to the edges of ecstasy. Still kissing, they moaned and screamed into each others' mouths. One of his hands clamped against her head and held her mouth against his, as they both felt the pleasurable pangs wrack through their bodies. Finally, they stopped kissing, and their chests rose and fell together as they waited to regain their breath.

_I love you_, they kept repeating to each other, as the room stopped spinning and their sight became clearer. She sat up, and lifted her knees over his body to sit beside him. He wrapped his arm around her and held her against his chest. With his other hand, he pulled the covers around them, and then started fingering strands of her short hair.

_Every time feels like the first time_, he said, his twinkling eyes watching her face.

She looked up, meeting his gaze. She rested a hand on his chest. _Sometimes, it seems too good to be true. This. Us. How did we get so lucky, Alistair? To find each other in all this darkness?_

_I don't know, my love. But I thank the Maker every day for you_. He kissed the top of her head. _So, my love, if I may ask, when did you know? When did you know you loved me?_

She smiled and snuggled closer to him. _The gauntlet._

_The gauntlet?_

_Yes, remember when I saw my father's shade? I knew it wasn't him, in my heart, I __**knew**__, but that didn't stop me from getting this feeling of __**home**__, of __**rightness**__. That evening, after we retrieved the ashes, when we were walking back to the village, I realized I had the same feeling of peace with you._ She cradled his cheek. _The feeling of being home, even when I was far away from everything that I ever knew._

He smiled sleepily as his happiness encompassed both of them. They closed their eyes welcomed the sleep that their bodies and minds would need for the days ahead.

* * *

_AN: Thanks goes to betas Whiteshade24 and SpiritWarrior22_


	97. Mobilization

**Chapter 97**  
Mobilization

* * *

She could not breathe. Every time she tried to take a breath, air simply would not come. Her face was pressed against a hard wall. Her ribcage was being squeezed together. She was sure she was being crushed to death. Frantically, she struggled, trying to squirm out of whatever was holding her, but it was fruitless. She told herself to calm down, relax.

She faintly heard something that sounded like a loud, pained roar.

She realized what had taken hold of her.

_Alistair!_ She squirmed against him. His arms were wrapped tightly around her and her face was crushed into his chest. _Alistair! Wake up! You're hurting me!_

He jerked awake and gasped. Instantly, his hold on her melted away. She inched away from him and sat up against the headboard and watched him carefully. His hands swiped at his cheeks and he turned his head away from her.

"I'm so sorry," he said softly. He sat up, pulling his knees against his chest and resting his forehead on them. "Are you okay?" his muffled voice whispered.

"Yes," she lied. Her back felt bruised and her ribs ached. But her pain vanished when she heard him try to stifle a sob that would not go away.

"I failed you. I hurt you." He could not control his emotions any longer. His shoulders shook and his voice wavered. "I killed you."

She crept closer to him on the bed and placed a light hand on his shoulder. "No, you didn't kill me Alistair. I'm right here. I'm safe. You're safe. Everything is okay." She wrapped her arm around him and tried to still his quaking body.

_I had a dream_, he explained. _And…they told me that…_

_What, love?_ She stroked his hair, trying to reassure him through gentle touches that his dream was not real.

_The archdemon. And you. They told me I had to._

_Had to what?_

_I had to let the archdemon take you away with him or else the Blight would take over Thedas._ He continued crying. Shame, guilt, and fear were causing him to withdraw. He pulled his knees closer to his chest and leaned away from her.

She released her embrace and got out of bed. She pulled on her robe and walked to the other side of the bed where he was cowering along the edge.

"Alistair. Look at me. Now." She glared at him like she would an insolent soldier, or perhaps a mischievous child.

He slowly lifted his head, furiously wiping away tears with his trembling hands.

"You are a Grey Warden. You will do whatever is necessary to stop this Blight. If that means sacrificing someone to the archdemon, then that is what you have to do. You know ending the Blight is our first priority; ridding Ferelden of the archdemon is how we will meet that objective, regardless of any personal interest we may have. You have a _duty_ to the Wardens before anything else. You have a _duty_ to Duncan's memory. If that means sacrificing a few things along the way, then that is the way it must be."

He shook his head and took her hand. He found her eyes, which were cold and distant. _Not you. Not you, not ever._

She pulled back her hand and distantly wondered if this is what Morrigan meant when she had teased them about "fraternizing."

"That Morrigan is a bitch," he mumbled.

"You weren't supposed to hear that," she said.

"I can hear everything you're thinking. I know that you are just as scared as I am, but you don't want to admit it. You're trying to toughen me up, in case…" _it comes down to one of us having to die_, he finished.

"I don't see how you can hear my thoughts when I'm—"

"Not trying to send me any," he interjected. "And your back is killing you, you're wondering if we have any poultices and if you can get to one without me noticing."

_Stop that! I-I-I don't want to upset you. But, I don't want to shut you out, either…_

_I'm glad you're sharing your pain with me, then I will know how best to help you. Please, let me look. Let me see if you're all right. _

_I'm fine. Really I am._ She pulled the robe tighter around her.

He crawled out from under the covers and touched her shoulders carefully, turning her around to face away from him. _Stand by the fire, my love. Let me see what I can do to make it better._

She didn't want him to feel worse than he already did, but she knew arguing would only upset him more. She walked forward slowly, her bare feet grazing across the cold floor. Once they were before the fire, he slowly pulled down the back of her robe and jumped back.

_My love! I'm so very sorry. Don't come near me! Please!_

_What is it Alistair?_

He couldn't look away. He wanted to punish himself by taking in the image before him. _I put bruises all over your back…_

_Because you were trying to hold me close to you so no one could take me away from you._

_No…_

_Yes, I can read your thoughts, too, Alistair. All of them._ She readjusted her robe and tied it back into place. She turned to face him. _Ser Templar, if I let a few bruises get me down, what kind of Grey Warden would I be?_

He placed a hand on her head, lacing his fingers into her hair. _You are so fragile, my love…_

She scoffed. _Alistair, I am the least fragile woman you know._ She smirked, knowing that he had to admit that was true.

He chuckled briefly before worry washed over his face once more. _I hurt you. I am the last person who should be hurting you. I'm as bad as those guards who…_ He pulled his hand away and took a step back.

She shook her head quickly. _No!_ She took both his hands in hers and looked fiercely into his eyes. "No, Alistair. You would never hurt me like those men did. Never."

There was a frantic knock at the door. Sarah dropped Alistair's hands, and he, still naked, ducked into the washroom.

Sarah opened the door to be greeted by a frazzled Riordan. He was wearing his armor but looked as if he had just been woken from a deep sleep. "Sarah. The horde is moving faster than I had anticipated. It will reach Redcliffe in no more than four days—"

"But that's three days sooner than we expected."

"That is why we must hurry. Teagan and I are leaving now, and Eamon is rounding up his soldiers to begin the march as soon as possible."

She nodded. "We will be right behind you, Riordan. My companions will not take long to rally."

"No, we must not go together. The taint will be too strong and the darkspawn will seek us out." He swallowed and spoke quickly. "In order to slay the archdemon, the three of us must do our best to stay alive, even if that means sacrificing others in the process. Now, Teagan and I are going alone. He knows of a seldom-traveled road to the north that should get us to Redcliffe without meeting the Darkspawn. Once in Redcliffe, we will prepare the troops for battle."

"The dwarves and the Mage's Circle should already be there. I will bring the Dalish with us." She took a deep breath. "The taint, Riordan. Should Alistair and I separate, as well?"

He shook his head. "No, both of you have not had the taint long enough for it to make much of a difference if you are together. But, heed my words, Sarah, the both of you need to make it to Redcliffe. Alive. We have very little room for error, as you know."

Of course, she knew. Blights were ended by armies of Grey Wardens, not an aging warrior and two wet-behind-the-ears recruits. "Yes, Riordan." Then, much to her surprise, Riordan pulled her into a quick hug. She winced as the warriors arms pressed against her bruises, but she was deeply touched by his caring gesture.

"May the Maker watch over you, sister."

And with that, he was gone.

Sarah shut the door and Alistair stepped out of the washroom. Since he had been a silent witness to the conversation, his arms were full of their toiletries, all of which he dumped into a pack in the corner. He tossed her a poultice and began pulling clothes and supplies from the cupboard. She downed the potion, feeling the liquid work its way through her body to sooth her aching skin and muscles. Then, she followed Alistair's lead and began sorting out weapons and shields. Within minutes, they had everything organized and stowed away, sharing mental checklists and inventories. They piled the weapons cases and sacks by the door and finally pulled on their armor. They kissed briefly, in front of the dying fire before carrying their things out of the room.

_Go wake the others,_ she ordered. _I have to say goodbye to Fergus._

He nodded. _We will await your command, whatever it may be_. Riordan's insistence that Sarah take careful measures to protect both of them gave Alistair some comfort. He also knew that whatever happened, he was not about to sacrifice his queen to anything, on anyone's orders. Including hers.


	98. Potions, Conspiracies, and Thieves…oh my

**Chapter 98**  
Potions, Conspiracies, and Thieves…oh my!

* * *

The sunrise barely broke through the cloudy haze that followed the Wardens and their companions to Redcliffe. It was only the second day of the trek, and Zevran could tell that the Wardens' fatigue was worsening with each step. Alistair and Sarah walked together, which was not unusual, but today, they almost seemed to be leaning against each other, trying not to topple over with exhaustion.

When the group stopped for lunch, Sarah's face was without its usual, light energy, and Alistair's eyes looked as though they were staring into a void. Zevran was understandably concerned. What would they do if the Wardens were beyond their wits and could not sense the darkspawn acutely enough to prepare for attacks? Of course, Zevran's concern was more than tactical, and, though he may not have admitted it if asked, he was worried about Sarah and Alistair because they were his friends.

His first plan was to observe the others, to see if they noticed the Wardens' dispositions. He should not have been surprised, then, when he spied Wynne and Leliana whispering to each other and stealing glances at the leaders.

Smirking, he joined the women by the small fire that was warming up some stew. "Two women alone, whispering? Ah, yes, it must be about me. Ask away ladies. I am an open book. _Very open_."

Wynne rolled her eyes. "Not every discussion revolves around you and your…openness."

He chuckled and sat down between the mage and the bard. "Well, what else is there to discuss?"

Leliana ran her fingers through the grass beside her. She plucked a blade at its root, and began tearing it into smaller strands. "They're not doing very well, are they?" she mumbled, glancing at the Wardens through the hair hanging over her eyes.

Zevran leaned back on his hands and pulled up his knees. "Well, we're facing certain death. Perhaps they're a bit worried about that. Or…" he leaned forward and whispered, "They're not getting very much sleep on account of their nighttime activities."

Leliana groaned and yanked another blade of grass from the ground.

Wynne straightened her robe and cleared her throat. "Quite the contrary, Zevran. I've spoken with the others, and Sarah and Alistair have not even slept in their tent. Last night, when Leliana and Sten were keeping watch, our leaders were leaning against a rock and staring into the fire."

Leliana nodded, studying the pieces of shredded grass before her. "They were tired, no doubt, but would not go to sleep. I sense that they are…very frightened of something."

"Ah, yes," Zevran nodded. "The bad dreams."

"Heh, it's always something 'bad' with you, isn't it, Zevran?" Wynne chided.

He smirked. "No, my dear Wynne. The dreams. You know, the Grey Warden dreams?"

Wynne glared at Zevran. "I assure you, I know nothing of these dreams."

Zevran was noticeably surprised. "They dream…of the archdemon. I know that it sometimes kept Sarah awake, and apparently, it has plagued Alistair as well."

Wynne cocked her head to the side. "Dreams? Well that does make sense, then."

"Is there something you can do about it?" Zev asked, waving his hand through the air. "You know, a little magic dust here and there. A sleeping spell or two?"

She shook her head. "I could mix a potion, I suppose…."

"Yes, that's excellent!" Zev exclaimed.

"But how would we get them to drink it?"

The elf's eyes twinkled. "Leave that to me, dearest Wynne. Spiking drinks happens to be one of my many skills."

* * *

Following lunch the group walked another12 miles before stopping for the evening. Leliana prepared a few delicious Orlesian dishes, and the party enjoyed some of Wynne's intoxicating wine. After eating their last bit of food, the weary Grey Wardens found themselves falling asleep by the fire, still wearing their armor and weapons.

With some relief, the three conspirators pitched the Wardens' tent some ways off from the others, so as to give the Wardens some privacy. It took Sten and Oghren both to carry Alistair into the tent, and when Zevran lifted Sarah from the ground, Dog growled at him. Leliana calmed the mabari with a bone and led him away from the tent, so as not to wake the Wardens. Wynne took it upon herself to tuck Sarah and Alistair in, still wearing their armor, when she checked their heart rates and their breathing patterns to ensure correct dosage of the sleeping potion. After a few minutes of examining them, Wynne was pleased with the results and left the tent.

* * *

Many hours later, the Wardens, both blissfully snoring and enjoying a night of dreamless sleep, were visited by seven cloaked mercenaries from the South. Wynne's potion was so powerful, that Sarah and Alistair did not stir or make a sound as the mercenaries bound their hands and feet together, tossed them into the back of a wagon, and drove away with them into the night.

Two of the cloaked men snickered.

"Regent Loghain is sure to pay us a great deal for a job well done!" one said happily.

"Indeed," answered the other. "It seems our months of hiding in the woods have finally paid off."

"Yes, it has, my friend. Yes it has!"


	99. Don't Mess With the King

**Chapter 99**  
Don't Mess With the King

* * *

When Alistair woke up, he was lying in a small, confining hole, and something beside him was shaking. Quickly, he oriented himself with his surroundings. He appeared to be in some sort of dug out cage with bars of thatched wood overhead. He was barefoot, but wearing the shirt and pants that he usually kept on under his armor. Some light peaked in through the hatch overhead, but it was not much. As his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, he realized that Sarah was curled up beside him, shivering. She, too, was barefoot, but only wearing her undershirt and her panties. He quickly took off his own clothes and dressed her in them. Then, he laid down beside her and pulled her against him, wrapping his body around hers, trying to stop her shivering

"Sarah, my love, can you hear me?" Her shaking lessened, a little, but she did not answer him. He pulled her closer and tried to figure out what he last remembered. Dinner by the fire. Wine, of course, and a delicious dried roast that Leliana had somehow made taste like it had been prepared in a kitchen and not at camp.

_My love, can you hear me? Please wake up. Oh, please wake up._

She did not answer.

He did his best not to panic. He, himself was not injured. But he was not worried about himself, he was worried about the quivering body in his arms. He wondered where the others were. Had the darkspawn killed them? He sensed no darkspawn nearby, but ever since they'd left Denerim, he'd had a faint sense of the horde getting closer. What enemies would they have this far north? Why wasn't she waking up?

Suddenly, there was movement overhead. Having no idea what to expect, he braced for battle. He sat up and felt around for anything that could serve as a weapon. A stick, or a even a rock. But he found nothing. Quickly, he picked up Sarah and moved her into the darkest corner of the earthen cage. Standing at her feet, he assumed his fighting stance and tried to recount his lessons of hand to hand combat.

The thatched roof above opened slightly. Alistair squinted into the early morning sunlight, only able to make out the silhouette of a man's head.

"Eh, Francis, one of 'ems awake," the head announced. "Oh, and he looks plenty angry."

Alistair snarled and took a step towards the voice. He glanced behind him to check on Sarah. She had stopped shivering, but was still asleep. _Oh, please, wake up. _He turned to face his captor. "Who are you!?" he demanded, trying to listen for how many men could possibly be outside.

"Bring him out, Drake. See if he wants some breakfast."

"Er, right," the man at the roof said. "Uh, could I get some help here fellas? He's mighty big."

Alistair looked around him. Maybe he could pull these vile men down into the hole. Then, he could lift out Sarah and escape. His arms and legs trembled. He took a deep breath. No, that would not be a good idea. He needed to assess the entire situation, first, before running headstrong into a doomed escape.

The hatch flew open. Alistair's eyes followed the arc, spying four men standing overhead.

"Good morning, Grey Warden."

Alistair snarled again. "Who are you? What have you done with our friends?" He took long, deep breaths, spreading his chest and shoulders wide as if he were a protective wildebeest guarding its territory.

The man grimaced. "Absolutely nothing. I assure you."

"Why have you taken us prisoner?" Alistair demanded.

"The regent's orders, I'm afraid. We were hired to bring in two Grey Wardens who matched your description."

"Regent?"

The man nodded. "Loghain. It seems he has quite a quarrel with the two of you."

Alistair shook his head and his mouth curled into a grin. "Loghain is dead."

All four of the men laughed. "Yeah, and I'm king of Ferelden," one chided.

Alistair squared his shoulders. "No, I am king of Ferelden. I demand you release me and my fiancé!"

The men laughed even harder. "Did you hear that, boys? We've captured the king and queen! Just wait 'til I tell my brother Job about this one." The man turned to look at Alistair, smiling. "Well, despite your slanderous lies, we mean you no real harm. We're just transporting you back to Denerim."

_Alistair?_

His heart leaped. She was awake. He lowered his shoulders slightly and his hands stopped trembling. _Thank the Maker!_

_Oh, my. We've been kidnapped. Keep them distracted. I have a plan._

_Of course you do._ He squared his shoulders again and started waving his arms around. "Have you no sense, man? There is a Blight across the land! We're trying to get to Redcliffe to stop it from taking over the entire country!"

One of the men scoffed. "Oh, you and what army?"

Alistair could not believe this was happening. They had been kidnapped by a bunch of oblivious fools. Two days away from killing the archdemon and he was being interrogated by the biggest idiot in Thedas.

"Are you going to release us, or will I have to kill you?" Alistair eyed each of the men in turn.

Suddenly, one of them screamed and fell into the hole. Alistair whipped his head around to see Sarah dragging the man down the muddy wall. She reached behind her, underneath her undershirt, and pulled out a knife and held it at the man's throat.

"Throw down all your weapons, or I will kill your friend," she demanded.

_Where did you get that knife?_

The other three captors ran from their fire up to the cage, unsure of exactly how to proceed

_Remind me to show you later._

"Well," she said. "I'm waiting."

"Please! Drake! Listen to her! For Fade's sake!" The man in Sarah's arms struggled fruitlessly against her hold.

One of the men attempted to run off.

"No!" she warned. "Make another move and he's going to bleed out at my feet."

"I thought Grey Wardens were supposed to protect us, not threaten us!" one of the men squeaked.

It was Alistair's turn to scoff. "I gave you a chance to release us." He nodded to Sarah. "I wouldn't press her. She's killed more ogres than you have hairs on your head.

_Good one, Ser Templar._ She hissed at the captors.

Alistair nodded. "And that's just since Tuesday."

One of them shrugged. "No bounty's worth losing our lives over. I surrender, Warden." He unsheathed his sword and shield and slid them down to the Wardens.

Alistair equipped the weapons immediately. "Next?"

The remaining three men tossed down their weapons. Alistair found a dagger and handed it to Sarah. She stuffed the knife into the pocket of Alistair's pants, and equipped the dagger.

"Now, back away," she ordered.

The men took a few steps back. She released the man from her hold and pushed him towards Alistair. "Help him climb out of the cage."

The man nodded and boosted Alistair onto his shoulders. Alistair quickly climbed onto the surface, then he reached down his hand and pulled Sarah out as well. They smiled at each other and turned to their captors.

"Into the cage," Sarah said. "Now."

"Yes'm," they mumbled shuffling into the hole.

Once all of the men were cramped into the small cage, Alistair pulled the hatch closed and tied it back into place. He stood back and put his arm around Sarah's shoulders, kissing the top of her head. _Have I told you how much I love you? Because it's a lot, really, a whole, whole lot._

She smiled and looked up to him. _I wonder what they'll do when they find out you're really the king…_

_Soil their drawers, I guess. We should have them over for dinner one night. You know, to reminisce. We'll all look back on this and laugh. And then I'll kill them._

_Sounds excellent, Ser Templar. Now, let's get you some clothes._

_Right._

They found their armor and weapons in a crate by the fire. For good measure, they stole everything from the inept kidnappers, including some delicious dried meat for breakfast and, much to Alistair's delight, a block of Swiss cheese.

_What's the plan, my dear?_ He asked, slicing away a single piece of cheese. He offered her some but she shook her head and scratched her chin.

_I don't know_, she sighed. _We could just make our way to Redcliffe and hope we meet the others on our way._

_But you don't want to do that?_

She shook her head again. _They've no way of knowing if darkspawn are nearby if we're not with them._

_How's this, then: We go back to our campsite and see if we can make sense of where they've gone. Perhaps they've left to search for us, or maybe they did go to Redcliffe. _He wrapped up the rest of the cheese carefully and stowed it in his pack.

_Alistair…I'm not a the best tracker. Zevran tried to teach me, but I didn't get beyond looking for tracks in the mud. Reading tree limbs, or blades of grass, or imprints in dried leaves…all that's a mystery to me._

He smiled easily. _Did you forget, my dear Warden, that I was once a mage hunter? And, I'm wagering finding renegade apostates is much more difficult than finding a golem and her six humanoid companions._

She turned her head to face him, returning his smile. _Well, Ser Templar, we make quite a pair, don't we? You can't read a map, and I keep getting kidnapped._

His smile faded and he wrapped an arm around her to pull her close to him. _At least we're together this time, my love._

She nodded and returned his embrace. After a few seconds, they both took a simultaneous deep breath and finished packing things away. They were about to find the path back to their campsite when Sarah spied some unusual footprints along the tree line.

_What is it?_

_By the Maker, Alistair, these damn fools have horses! Or so they did. Now, __**we**__ have horses. _Sarah jogged alongside the tracks, following them a few yards into the trees. She found two stallions, one brown and one black, tied to a trunk. They were unsaddled, but clearly tame and broken in. She approached them slowly, holding out her hands and allowing the horses to familiarize themselves with her scent. She petted each one in turn.

"My friends," she said soothingly. "You can trust us. We mean you no harm." She untied the ropes and led them out of the trees. She handed the reins to the black horse to Alistair, then, with little more than a small hop, she jumped onto the brown horse's back and led him around in a circle.

Alistair gripped the reins and chuckled nervously. He had never been this close to a horse before, let alone ridden one.

_What is it Alistair?_

He shook his head, embarrassed. He tried to remember exactly how Sarah had mounted her horse. He held the reins tightly and jumped. However, instead of landing on the horse's back gracefully, he kicked the poor beast in the hindquarters. The horse reared back and whinnied. Alistair, frightened beyond all belief, dropped the reins and took, at first a few, then, many steps backwards.

_Alistair, have you never ridden a horse before?_

He stared at the ground, ashamed, and shook his head.

_Oh, love, don't be embarrassed. It's all right._ She dismounted and led her horse over to the black one. _Come here, Alistair, _ she beckoned to him.

Slowly, he walked over to her and was careful not to look either horse in the eye.

"Here's what we'll do," she said, for the horses' benefits. "I will teach you. It won't take much, Alistair, you're a quick learner. And riding these horses will let us catch up with the others so that we can get to Redcliffe on time."

He nodded.

"Okay." She whispered into the brown horse's ear, and slowly, the horse bent its front legs under him and lowered itself to the ground.

"All right, Alistair. You may mount the horse."

He stared at her with wide eyes.

"Come, my love. He will be gentle."

Alistair inched forward, and carefully, slowly, sat down on the horse. Then, the horse stood.

"Maker!" Alistair mumbled as the beast moved beneath him.

"Relax, Alistair. He's not going to hurt you." Sarah petted the horse's neck.

She took the reins of the black horse and tied them to the reins of the other horse. She looked up to Alistair, who was sitting stiffly upright, hands braced against his thighs.

"We'll share this horse for a while, so you can get used to riding. Later, you can try it on your own."

Alistair nodded, clearly relieved that he wouldn't have to lead the horse by himself.

Then, with another little hop, Sarah jumped onto the horse, just in front of Alistair, and took the reins.

_Oh, my, I could get used to this_, he thought, wrapping his arms around her waist.

She chuckled. _Now, you have to be careful, Ser Templar. Just hanging onto me won't keep you on the horse. You have to hold on with your legs. But don't squeeze too hard, or the horse will get upset._

_Now, that shouldn't be hard at all…_

_You have a soft touch, Alistair. Treat the horse like a woman. Gentle enough to show you care, but rough enough to show her who's in charge._

_Rrright. Please don't tell me you go around saying that a lot._

_No, but I had a rather verbose and cheeky groom growing up. _She paused. _ Oh, and one more thing, sit up straight._

With that, she clicked her tongue, and the horses began trotting to the road. Once there, she urged them to a steady gait. Yes, they would surely make it to Redcliffe in time.

_You know, my love_, Alistair began, as he became used to the horse's rhythm_. This is a lot like…well…you know…_

She giggled. _Yes, that's how I knew you'd be a quick learner._

_You always have such faith in me, dear,_ he observed, kissing her neck just below her ear. _Tell me, love, how did you convince those men to listen to you so easily?_

_Well, I was holding one of them hostage._

_Yes, true, but even when were climbing out of the cage, they didn't make a move to attack us again, or anything._

_Oh, my love, that wasn't me. That was you. Have you any idea how frightening you are when you're angry?_

He shook his head against her back and buried his nose in what was left of her hair. Then, he saw her version of his own stance against the inept kidnappers. Though he was certain he had been trembling, in this vision, he was not. In the small confines of the cage, he appeared larger than life, as if his entire body filled the dark, empty space. His chest rose and fell with a menacing rhythm, forming part of an impenetrable human wall of muscular force. He heard his own voice echo against the earthen walls, sounding guttural and threatening. The sight was even scaring himself. Certainly, he was not that terrifying.

Sarah shook her head, the ends of her hair tickling his nose. _Only when you need to be, Alistair. You're the perfect balance of intimidating warrior and gentle caregiver. _She shrugged slightly, _at least that's how I see you anyway._

Despite the fact that Alistair was certain he would fall from the galloping horse at some point in the day's journey, **this **was one of **those** moments. A moment when muddled feelings and events become just a little bit clearer. Even though there were two sets of armor between them and he could not even look at her face, he felt closer to Sarah than ever before. _You take all the little separate pieces of me and make them whole. It's like you are—_

_The missing part of me I've been waiting for all my life_, she finished, leaning back slightly to feel his warm breath arch across her cheek. His lips grazed her earlobe as he leaned forward.

_Oh no…_

And, then, Alistair fell to the ground, crushing a poor little bunny, whose red blood was now splattered across the silver-white armor of diligence.

She only looked down at him and laughed. _Oh, by the Maker, Alistair, I love you._

He shrugged, his face turning red. _Well, I think I've found us some lunch._

_Roasted rabbit. Again._

He nodded, grinning. _With cheese!_


	100. The Missing Wardens

**Chapter 100  
The Missing Wardens**

* * *

This day was going to be a good one, he decided. The morning was crisp and dry, the air was still: a perfect day for hunting. He rose from his spot by the campfire and nodded to the Qunari. Then, he pressed his nose to the ground and trotted into the trees. Within a few minutes, he found what he was looking for: a small burrow cleverly, but not cleverly enough, hidden in some bramble by a hill. He hunkered close to the ground, moving slowly, his nostrils taking in each scent. He froze. Then, he leaped forward and held a black hare to the ground. In one quick movement, he sank his teeth around the hare's neck, killing it instantly. He picked up the breakfast and trotted away.

It did not take him long to find his mistress's tent, where she was, no doubt, spending time with the other Grey Warden. Dog did not mind, he enjoyed seeing her happy, and the man took good care of her, almost so well that Dog was considering inviting the Templar into his pack.

As was his usual routine, Dog dropped the hare right before the tent's entrance. Then he barked. However, there was no answer. He barked again. Nothing. He scratched at the tent with his paw, whining. There was no response. He barked again, louder. Still nothing.

He sank his teeth into the tent and ripped the canvas apart. It was as he had feared, no one was inside. He started growling, and pressed his nose against the ground. He found her scent behind the tent and followed it to the road, but then it disappeared. His mistress was missing. Dog ran back to the camp. He would need the others' help to find her.

* * *

Zevran rolled over on his bedroll, cursing the blasted mabari. It was barking. Again. Trying to wake the whole camp to show them its latest kill, no doubt. He wondered why Sarah didn't make the dog be quiet, at least during the night. That loud barking could draw any sort of attacker out of the darkness. Were silence and stealth lost on all war hounds? Clearly this one had no concept of them.

The barking grew louder, until Zevran realized Dog was standing outside his tent. Deciding that getting any more sleep was a wasted effort, Zevran tossed aside his blankets and sat up. He poked his head out of the tent flap and met Dog's growling jowls.

The elf chuckled. "Now, don't take this the wrong way, my four-legged friend, you are quite handsome, but I'm afraid my preference for bedfellows only pertains to the two-legged variety."

Dog barked, sending waves of horrid smelling dog breath into Zevran's face. Zev leaned back and turned his head, coughing. Dog barked again before nudging Zevran's bare foot.

"Why don't you go pester Alistair?" he groaned.

Dog nudged him again and barked. Then, the mabari took a few steps back, tilted his head in the direction of the Wardens' tent, and whined.

"Oh, are you trying to tell me something?"

_Bark._

"Very well." Zevran stepped out of the tent and pulled on his treasured leather boots. "Lead the way."

* * *

The camp was packed up but no one was going anywhere. Sten paced around the campfire, grumbling in his native tongue. Fortifications, he could not emphasize enough the importance of fortifications. This was no time to be lax about defenses. Shayle followed the Qunari with her glass eyes, amused at the fractured alliances around the camp. Wynne sat on a nearby stone, her motionless posture belying her internal scolding. She should have known better. What sort of herbalist drugs Grey Wardens and leaves them unprotected in the woods? How had she been taken in by the young rogues' plan? Did she not have enough regrets in her life already?

On the opposite side of the camp, next to the pack-pony stood Morrigan, Zevran, and Leliana. Dog sat at Zevran's feet, every so often trying to nudge the elf towards the road.

"Fools," the witch hissed. "Of all the times to do something so stupid, you choose now. Do you not know what is upon us? What needs to happen before this Blight is over?" She shook her head and crossed her arms. "No, you do not. You did not even ask them if they wanted help! You just put them to sleep. What if the darkspawn came upon us?" She leaned towards Leliana. "Should Sarah and Alistair perish, the Blight will certainly take over us all."

Leliana bit her thumbnail and leaned onto her back leg. "We did what we thought was best," she retorted.

"Quiet!" Zevran sneered. "Your arguing is not going to help us find them."

"Oh," Morrigan groaned. "You've suddenly decided to be the font of wisdom, then? Pray tell, what are you thinking?"

Zevran, ignoring her sarcasm, squatted to the ground and gently brushed some dirt from his boots. "We will need to split up. Two groups. The first will continue to Redcliffe as quickly as possible, and will alert Eamon and Riordan to what has transpired. The second group will search for the Wardens."

Morrigan raised her eyebrows. "And what if they should return here?"

"I will wait for them," a raspy voice answered. They turned to see Wynne approaching their circle.

"Alone?" asked Leliana. "No, I do not think that is a good idea."

Wynne shook her head. "No, I will wait for them. It is the least I can do. I will wait here and tell them this was all my fault."

"No," Leliana and Zevran said at once.

The bard made her way to Wynne's side and put her arm around the crying mage. "No, Wynne, we must not tell them. They will think we betrayed them."

Wynne pulled away. "Then you suggest we lie?"

"Yes," replied Zevran. "Two groups. One to Redcliffe, one tracking. Wynne, no one will be waiting here. If the Wardens do return here, they will no doubt conclude that we've gone on without them."

Morrigan nodded. "You make a good point. Only one of them is an idiot. Sarah will continue to the castle at all costs."

"I agree," said Zevran. "Now, Dog and I will go look for them. The rest of you get to Redcliffe as quickly as you can."

"B-b-but," sputtered Wynne, shaking her head.

"Wynne," said Zevran, placing a hand on her shoulder. "They will need you at the castle. All those soldiers will need healing. You cannot neglect your duty now."

After a long pause, Wynne finally dried her eyes and nodded. She calmed herself by repeating the Chant of Light in her head, then, she assumed her maternally authority and ordered the others to march for Redcliffe.

Zevran and Dog trotted to the road before breaking into a run, the elf's keen eyes looking for signs along the roadway and the mabari's sensitive nose sniffing for changes in the air.

* * *

Sarah slowed the horses to a walk, and led them into the tree-line alongside the road.

_What is it?_

_I hear something up ahead. I think it's best we hide, just in case._

Once they were hidden in the trees, Sarah hopped off the horse, gripping the reins lightly.

"Okay, Alistair, just swing one leg over to the side and slide down."

"Right." He took a deep breath, and much to his surprise, he made it to the ground safely. Sarah tied the horses to a nearby tree and drew her blades. Alistair drew his sword and followed her to the edge of the trees. They squatted and watched the road. They saw two shadows approaching quickly, as if they were running. Sarah took a few steps forward to peer around the turn.

_Dog! It's Dog, Alistair! They came to find us!_ She sheathed her blades and ran into the road.

"My friend!" she exclaimed, her arms outstretched. Dog ran even faster and within seconds was trampling his mistress to the ground.

Alistair found his way to the path, looking ahead. Suddenly, a figure whisked out of the trees and leaped right in front of him.

"You're alive!" Zevran exclaimed.

Alistair stumbled backwards. "Must you always be sneaking around like that Zevran?"

Zevran hopped to the side and pulled Sarah off the ground. She was covered in muddy paw prints and laughing. "You came to look for us!" she exclaimed, hugging Zevran.

He pulled out of her embrace quickly. "We shouldn't linger, my friends. We have to make up lost time."

Sarah continued smiling. "Where are the others, Zev? In the trees?"

He shook his head. "No, they're on their way to Redcliffe."

She widened her eyes. "You mean that you came looking for us on your own?"

Dog barked.

"Er, I mean with Dog?" she corrected.

"Of course. We wouldn't leave you out there without coming after you. I'm the Grey Warden honor guard, remember?"

She laughed again. "Zev, have you ever ridden a horse?" she said quickly.

The elf cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows, "Well, there was this rather large duke in Antiva that I had to—"

"Oh, Maker," Alistair mumbled, his hand sliding across his brow.

Sarah shook her head, grinning. "No, a horse. Can you ride a horse?"

"Yes, Tesoro, I can. I find it oddly reminiscent to seducing a—"

Alistair waved his hand. "No, please don't. That's all we need to know."

"Right." Sarah said. "Wait here." She sprinted into the woods and led the horses onto the pathway.

"Horses? You left camp to find horses?" Zevran muttered.

"We were kidnapped," Alistair supplied. "By a bunch of fools who said they were hired by Loghain." He shook his head. "Apparently they'd been camped in these woods for a long time. Waiting for us."

Sarah handed Zevran the reins belonging to the black horse. "Let's go."

Zevran nodded, taking them from her hand. Before Alistair could attempt mounting the horse again, the kind beast automatically lowered himself to the ground. The templar breathed a sigh of relief and straddled the stallion. Sarah jumped on in front of him, and much to Zevran and Alistair's surprise, urged the horse into a fierce gallop. Zevran followed suit, and Dog sprinted in between the horses, yapping with delight.

* * *

They caught up with the others within an hour. The Wardens admitted that perhaps they had drank too much wine and had consequently let their guard down. Wynne could not listen to their tale and stood by the pony mixing health poultices. It was quickly decided that Sarah and Alistair keep the horses and make their way to Redcliffe.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Sarah said. "You won't know if the darkspawn are nearby if both of us go on ahead."

Sten cleared his throat. "While that is true, kadaan, the darkspawn will not be drawn to us like they are to you."

"Of course," Sarah said, realizing the taint could actually be putting her friends in danger instead of protecting them. "But Alistair and I can ride on one horse, if anyone else wants to take this other one and go with us."

"I will go," Morrigan answered quickly. "I will take the other horse."

"Very well," Sarah replied. "Let's be off then, lest we be later than we already are." She and Alistair climbed upon their horse, and Morrigan did likewise on the other.

Dog stayed with his mistress and ran alongside the two stallions as they galloped ever westward.

Alistair leaned forward and tightened his arms around Sarah. _I have a funny feeling about Morrigan._

_You always have a funny feeling about Morrigan. Just because she's an apostate doesn't mean she's evil, Alistair. She's been quite loyal to us and very helpful._

_I don't know…but I'll trust your judgment_, he channeled, though he was still uneasy.

* * *

_AN: Sorry for the delay, and as always, thanks to betas Whiteshade24 and SpiritWarrior22!_


	101. The Proposition

_AN: As I said, I'm playing around with the canon a little bit. I hope you don't mind. And I hope it's not too confusing.  
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_**Chapter 101  
The Proposition**

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They'd made it to Redcliffe ahead of Eamon's soldiers and the others. In a frenzy, Riordan explained to the Wardens and Teagan that the archdemon had shown itself, and the horde had changed directions and would be at Denerim in less than three days. The Wardens were urged to get their rest, to sleep until Teagan's army was ready to march. They were more than happy to comply, that is, until Riordan asked for a word alone with Alistair and Sarah. Halfway through the senior Warden's speech, Alistair's life, as he knew it, was changed forever.

For the first time since his joining, Alistair hated Duncan. Hated_. _Did Duncan not think this inkling of information worth telling? That, perhaps, _knowing_—just the simple fact of _knowing_—how to end the Blight would change everything? Riordan's words echoed in his mind, layering over Sarah's small utterance.

"…soul of an ancient God…"

"…absorbing the spirit of the Grey Warden…"

"…then the Grey Warden has to die…"

Soft and determined: "Then, I will strike the final blow."

Alistair wanted to kick Riordan to the ground, grab Sarah's hand, and run away. Escape everything, keep her from the danger she was so determined to face. She was volunteering to die, even after Riordan's insistence that it was the eldest Warden's prerogative to kill the archdemon. Sarah's determination resounded in his mind. She wasn't listening to Riordan, either. She was preparing for death. _This is what it has been for. I will die. I will kill the archdemon. I will die. I will die._

And before Alistair could tell her to stop it, before he could grab her hand and comfort her, she calmly walked out of Riordan's room, and abruptly stalked out of the castle, trying to sever him from her thoughts. He followed her, pulling off his heavy armor and casting it aside as he pursued her through the halls and out the door into the courtyard. Once they were outside, the chill night air, prickling his skin, she stopped and glared at him, clenching her fists at and threatening to punch him.

"Leave me alone!" she screamed. Crying, her eyes red and furious, she yelled at _him._ He wanted to grab her arms and pull her against him, to wrap his arms around her. To try reasoning with her, tell her that there was no way he'd let her die, no way that he would let her go.

But he didn't. He took a few steps back and bowed his head. "As you wish." He gave in to her demands, not daring to stand up to her as she ran into the night, away from him, away from his love and the limp arms that hung at his sides. She disappeared into the castle grounds, still wearing her armor, blades clanging against her back. He collapsed to the ground and leaned against the castle wall. He cried, his sobs echoed against the stone around him.

He pleaded with her, but his longing was only answered with silence, an empty, painful silence he had no name for, a silence he had no way of comprehending. The throbbing ache from his wounds faded away, replaced by an agony shredding his heart and stomach into tiny, inconsolable pieces. He hiccupped, hardly able to take the next breath between his sobs. He wanted to hug the soft and strong body that ran away from him. He pulled his knees to his chest and hugged those instead.

"Alistair, what are you doing sniveling on the ground like a child?"

He shook his head in disbelief. No, not her, not now. "Go away, Morrigan."

He heard her shuffle as her robes moved around. Then, she sat next to him, her pale, uncovered limbs and torso just barely touching his unclad arms. She laid down her staff on the other side of her and looked forward. "So you have been told, then? Now you know."

Alistair found his voice, but it was deep and angry. He wiped at his face with his hands and stared at his feet. "Know what?"

"Why Grey Wardens must be the ones to end the Blight." She shook her hair, and waved her wrist through the air. Her jewelry clanked together, a few of the pieces catching a glimmer from the moonlight.

"You mean, you knew? All this time you knew?" He made fists of his hands and clenched them over his knees.

She ignored his question. "And now your fearless leader is determined to sacrifice herself for the sake of _all_ others," she commented, drawing out the word as if to mock its seriousness.

"Go away, Morrigan. Leave me alone."

She chuckled and adjusted her robes. "What would you say, Alistair, if I told you no one has to die in the coming days? That your fellow Warden would not have to throw herself onto the archdemon so that you might live?"

His fists loosened a little. Still staring at the ground, he spoke slowly. "What do you mean?"

"A ritual. Performed on the eve of battle."

"A ritual?"

Morrigan took a deep breath. This was not how she had planned going about this at all, but the opportunity had presented itself, and she was running out of time. "An ancient ritual that will keep both of you alive."

"What sort of ritual?"

"You will not like it, but it will save her life," the witch repeated. "You must…lay…with me—"

He jumped up, his hands still clenched, and he glared at her. "What?!"

She laughed lightly and stood next to him. "Do you really hate me all that much, Alistair? At least hear me out. You lay with me, and we shall conceive a child. The next day, when the archdemon is slain, its soul will seek the child like a beacon. And the child will absorb the soul, allowing both you and Sarah to live."

He shook his head. "No, I can't. Do you know what you're asking of me? To cheat on her? To betray her? I can't do that!"

"What will it matter in a few days' time? When she is dead because you were too cowardly to make the right decision?"

He looked up, finally meeting Morrigan's glaring eyes. "You're not really asking me this, are you?"

To his surprise, Morrigan's expression softened and she took his arm. "What I'm asking you, Alistair, is to think about all you could save, with this small sacrifice."

He shook his head. "I don't know…"

"At least ask her, then. She deserves that much, doesn't she? You ask her what she wants you to do. If she refuses, then that will be the end of it. If she agrees, then what will you have to lose?"

Alistair wanted to trust Morrigan. What she promised would fix everything. He was silent for some time.

Then, Morrigan spoke again. "Go. Find her Alistair."

He shook his head, his voice soft. "I don't know where she is."

Morrigan leaned against him and pointed to Lake Calenhad. "There by the docks. Look at her, Alistair. She needs you. You should not leave her alone. I will be waiting here for your answer."


	102. The Loophole

**Chapter 102**

**The Loophole**

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She stood near the edge of the dock, spinning her swords and watching the lake. She sensed him, lingering behind her, shuffling his feet at the land's edge of the dock. She moved closer to the water, threw her blades to the ground, and braced her hands on top of the wooden post beside her. Empty, alone, angry, and full of despair, she welcomed another wave of tears. After everything, there was yet another price to pay, another life to sacrifice. Had there not been enough death already? Now, they asked something else of her, something months ago she would have been more than willing to give. Her own life.

She wanted to stamp her foot and scream, like a child throwing a tantrum. Why would Alistair not leave her alone? This was all his fault. Were it not for him, her sacrifice would be unquestionably easy. She was well on her way to being cold and calculating, irreverent and dismissive, and then he had made her go soft. Now, every life mattered, including hers. One look from him and she knew her resolve would shatter, that one small touch of his hand would make her question her decision. Nearly all of her instincts told her to leave the edge of the dock and run into his arms, as if there were invisible elastic strands pulling them together.

_My love? Please._

"What do you want, Alistair? I don't want to talk right now."

_I need to tell you something._

"What?" She turned her head to see his silhouette standing a few feet behind her.

He walked forward, his hands hanging to his sides, and before she could protest he stood next to her and pried one of her hands away from the post.

"Morrigan says she can…help us," he said, holding her hand in both of his.

"I-I-I don't see how this will change anything, Alistair. You heard what Riordan said. You know as well as I do what must happen." She met his eyes with a tearful gaze that pleaded with him, begged him to not press the matter any further.

He reached a thumb to her cheek. "I'm not about ready to let you die, not when we've come so far…I love you too much to let you do this."

She pulled her hand away and turned her back to him. "I've already made my decision, Alistair. Don't try to talk me out of it."

He grabbed her arm and forcing her back around. "It's not just your decision anymore!" he shouted.

She ripped her arm away and waved it through the air. "Of course it's my decision. It's the easiest decision in the world. You are going to be king. Fergus is alive. And I…I am expendable."

He shook his head. "No, no, don't say that. You can't assume, after all that we've been through, after…we've become so close…that you get to make these decisions on your own. I have a say, now."

"Okay, Alistair? What is it? What do you have to say?"

"No one has to die, if you would just listen to me for a moment!" He took a few steps back and stared at his feet. "Morrigan knows of an ancient ritual that will allow us to kill the archdemon without any of us having to die."

She scoffed. "Oh, an ancient ritual. That doesn't sound ominous at all. Did you even asked her how it works? Must we sacrifice someone else? Use blood magic? Find a loop hole to cover up our weaknesses?"

"Sarah," his voice gave, "don't, please don't. I need you to listen." He lifted his head, his watering eyes meeting hers, once again. "My love for you is not a weakness."

Instantly, she felt like a fool, a heartless woman ripping apart the man she loved so dearly. "Alistair, I'm sorry…Please don't make this harder for me than it is." She took a deep breath. "What does Morrigan propose?"

"Well, it's not blood magic, per se. She must be…with child, and…she will use the child's soul to absorb the archdemon's."

"With child?" she asked softly.

He only nodded, watching her face closely.

"And what will happen to this child?"

He took a deep breath. "Morrigan wishes to leave, to raise it away from society. And we won't see either one of them ever again."

"So the child will live?"

"Yes, but it will be…tainted."

"Tainted? Then that means…" she took a small step toward him and grabbed his hand. "…she must lay with a Warden," she finished

He nodded, clutching her hand, treasuring its tiny embrace. "With me," he said softly. He braced himself for another outburst, another stream of angry, seething questions. Instead, she seemed to almost calm herself a little bit.

"And no one has to die? And the Blight will be over?"

_Yes_, he channeled, setting free all of his feelings and hesitations, his hope and his fear.

_You said yourself she was up to something_, she replied, carefully absorbing everything Alistair was sending her, the most prominent of which were his pleas for forgiveness, begging her to let him commit this one adulterous act to save her life.

"Alistair, you can't do this to me and expect me to make the right decision." She quickly put her arms around him and pressed her ear against his chest. _My heart is locked in there, too. I feel what you feel. I see you, thinking about spending the night with her, and you are…disgusted; you are already hating yourself._ She looked up and reached a hand to touch his cheek. _And yet you are so willing to go through with it._

"I would do anything to keep us together," he explained solemnly. He slipped his hand through her hair. "My life isn't worth living if it's without you."

Sensing his overwhelming and heartbreaking sincerity, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him softly. "I would never demand this sacrifice from you, Alistair."

"It is a small sacrifice, compared to what could happen."

She pressed her forehead against his, whispering. "And when? When will you…"

"The night before the final battle."

_And so, the last night for us to be together, and you will be with her._

_Yes._ He pulled her close to him. _A **small** sacrifice_, he insisted

_And Morrigan will have your child, but I cannot. I will never have a child with you._

He shook his head and pulled her closer. _I am so sorry for asking you this, my love._

_A small sacrifice,_ she repeated. She pulled her face away and tried to smile. _But if I catch you dreaming about her, Ser Templar, you will be severely punished. Severely._

He brushed short strands of hair away from her forehead. He kissed each of her cheeks and then her lips, cradling the back of her head with his other hand. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, returning his gentle kiss.

He pulled away, and saw that she was still trying to smile. Reaching a finger the corner of her mouth, he offered a small grin. _My beautiful rose, ever the light in this endless night._

She smiled, a little more confidently this time. She retrieved her blades and took his hand.

_Let's get some rest_, he said.

She rested her head on his shoulder. He ushered her past Morrigan, nodding at the witch. "We agree," he announced quietly. Morrigan nodded and crossed her arms. "Good."


	103. Petites Morts

_AN: To explain the title, it's French for "Little Deaths" which is the French idiom for...you know...IT. Anyhow, I think it fits. Also, the poll has closed, with the "happy ending" winning out by just 7 votes. Thanks to all who participated. And reviews are soooo welcome, especially at this stage of the game, when the writing takes a lot of extra effort to get the emotion just right. *hint, hint*_

_And, a resounding thanks to all those who helped this chapter along, though they may find it looks a little different since they last saw it.  
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**Chapter 103**

**"Petites Morts"**

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The Wardens sat on a log by the fire, as they had done many nights before. They were silent, staring into the flames. The rest of the camp had retired, aside from Morrigan, who was awake in her tent, and Leliana and Zevran, who were keeping watch. Morrigan had pitched her tent some ways off from the fire, and for that Sarah was thankful. She was not sure what she was going to do when the witch pulled Alistair away. She thought about trying to go to sleep herself, or perhaps volunteering to keep watch with the others. But she secretly did not want to be too far away from him, despite what he would have to do in the next few minutes, despite how much it may hurt for her to _hear_ what was happening, let alone imagine it. Sarah took Alistair's hand and gripped it tightly, still watching the fire.

Then, Morrigan slipped out of her tent and glided towards the circle. "Alistair, 'tis time."

Sarah told herself not to look up, but she did. She glanced at Morrigan's figure, barely concealed by the wavy, shifting robes. She felt as if she were going to be sick, thick pellets of anger and jealousy swelled inside of her, threatening to explode and rip her into tiny little pieces. She swallowed and took a deep breath, carefully controlling her facial expressions and blocking her thoughts from Alistair's probing eyes. With one last squeeze, she released his hand, and he stood slowly. Sarah nodded to him and closed her eyes.

"Alistair?" Morrigan said.

"Yes," he replied evenly, following Morrigan back to her tent.

* * *

"Zevran!" Leliana grabbed Zev's arm and forced him to look back at the campfire. "What is going on?" she whispered.

He turned to see Alistair walking with Morrigan while Sarah sat by the fire, her head in her hands. He knew her well enough to read her posture, to realize she was not just tired, to know that something was wrong. "Where is Alistair going?" he wondered aloud.

"He is not—surely he is not—" Leliana's mouth hung agape as she watched Alistair and Morrigan enter the witch's tent and close the flap. "What are they…"

And before the words had left her mouth, Zevran was already stalking back to the camp, daggers spinning in his hands. Leliana followed him.

* * *

"Don't, Zev," Sarah said meekly, trying to keep from crying. "It's all right."

Zevran stopped spinning his blades and sat next to her. "What is happening, Tesoro?"

Just then, Leliana joined them by the fire and sat on Sarah's other side.

Sarah sniffed. "Please. Just, let me be."

"That rascal," Leliana hissed. "And right before the final battle. I will—"

Sarah buried her face in her hands again. "No, no, Lil, he's not—he's not doing it for fun.

Leliana put her arm around Sarah's shoulder. "Then, what is it, dear?"

Sarah wiped the tears away from her face and proceeded to explain to her friends why Alistair was visiting Morrigan's tent.

"To keep you both alive?" asked Leliana. "And you trust her to this?"

Sarah nodded. "I have…little choice in the matter. I cannot…I just can't let him die like that, Leliana. I—" she choked on her tears. "I love him too much. He loves me too much."

* * *

Alistair was anything but comfortable, expectant, or at ease. He was angry. Morrigan had candles around her tent, and incense burning, Maker knows what it was supposed to smell like. What was she trying to do, anyway? He just wanted to get it over with. He removed his shirt and laid down on the bedroll, closing his eyes. Maybe he could just turn off his mind, just will his body to perform. But even trying to do that, made him think of Sarah, sitting by the fire. Alone.

If he performed, then it was supposed to mean something, wasn't it? If he allowed himself to be taken in by the witch, allow himself to rise for her demands, for this ritual, then did that mean something? Of course, he wanted it to be meaningless. He only wanted to share himself with one person, wanted to share sex only with her, he wanted to father her children, not someone else's. But he could not.

This would be his sacrifice, his atonement. Morrigan removed her jewelry and took off her robes, not revealing much more than was hidden by the flowing fabric. Her hands started roaming over his body, pulling his pants to his knees, to his ankles, then off his feet and to the ground. He did not want to look at her. He did not want this act to be compared to others like it. She began kissing his mouth, and he tried not to be sick. He had to escape. He had to get out. He did not want black hair and dark eyes near his face. He did not want smooth full lips on his mouth. He did not want thin, muscle-less arms spanning his shoulders, he did not want pale perfect skin rubbing against his, and he did not want to be housed by a woman he could scarcely call a friend, let alone a lover.

He tried to imagine bruised skin, a scarred right oblique, short, messy brown hair, soothing green eyes, a stifled giggle, lithe, defined muscles, thin pouty lips, and a deep, caring voice soothing his mind. He wanted _her_, and yet, he could not ask her to be with him, could not ask her to open her mind to his. Then this would be even more painful.

The vision was disrupted. He felt sharp nails in his skin, unfamiliar breasts floating along his chest, a gravelly breathless voice he did not like.

Suddenly, Morrigan stopped. "Alistair. Are you not ready, yet?"

He threw his arm across his face. "I can't…"

Morrigan sat up. "I will give you a minute. Go, collect yourself. I will be patient, Alistair, but we don't have much time."

With a timid "Thank you," he pulled on his pants and stepped out of the tent.

* * *

_Sarah. I can't. I thought I could, but I…can't_.

Sarah looked up to find Alistair stumbling out of the tent, pulling on his trousers.

_What is it, Alistair?_

Leliana and Zevran looked on awkwardly as the Wardens continued their silent conversation.

Alistair shook his head. _I…I…don't feel…anything._

_You have to, Alistair. Morrigan is beautiful, she is…attractive. I have noticed the way men look at her._ She tugged on her hair, flabbergasted that she was telling her fiancé how attractive another woman should be to him.

_She isn't you_, he stated simply. _Is Zevran with you_?

_Yes._

_Can you…tell him to come see me for a moment?_

_Alistair, what are you thinking_? She shook her head. _No. I won't. Not with Zevran. I can't_.

_And yet, look at what I have to do. With Morrigan. At least you and Zevran can speak to each other without arguing_.

_Alistair…is this some twisted way of you trying to alleviate your guilt? This was your idea. You're the one who wanted to do this. You want me to feel as badly as you do_?

_No, I just want to **feel** what you do. If we both do this, at the same time, then, it will be like we're together._

_What_?

_You know, when we're in battle, or when we are making love, you feel what I do, and I, you. Why don't we use that to our advantage_?

She shook her head and covered her eyes with one hand. He wasn't asking her this, was he? _Alistair, is this really necessary? Can't you just **do **it? What makes you think that Zevran could make me feel anything anyway_?

Alistair paused for a brief second, collecting his thoughts before sharing them with her. _I remember…when he kissed you…and you…you returned his embrace…_

_Alistair. No. I feel nothing for Zevran. Nothing. I've told you that._ She was ashamed, recalling that horrible night in the Deep Roads, when Zevran's kisses had made her feel _something_, but nothing like what she felt when Alistair kissed her.

_I know, my love. I know. But Zevran is very good at what he does. And…he does care for you. He will not harm you. I trust him_.

**_You_**_ trust, Zevran? I can't believe what you're telling me…_

_Yes, you can. I know you can read every thought I have. You know I'm being sincere. You know I need you to do this._

_That doesn't make any sense…_

_Look! I have to do this. You need to help me. I need you to help me._

_Are you sure? Are you sure you want me to do this?_

_Yes._

She shook her head again, and meekly told Zevran to speak with Alistair.

* * *

Some moments later, Zevran returned and sat next to Sarah. He politely asked Leliana to resume her watch duty, and the bard reluctantly complied.

"You know what your Templar has asked of me, no doubt," Zevran commented.

Sarah nodded. "I do."

"A brave request, coming from him. And a smart one, too…it has quite surprised me. But, I think that it will be easy enough."

She was quiet, trying to collect her thoughts and her willpower. "And…it doesn't have to mean anything? It's just _that_, and nothing else?" she whispered, looking at the ground.

"It will not mean anything unless you want it to mean something," he said evenly, watching her face.

"Y-y-you know, Zev," she looked up and met his eyes, "You are…a dear friend to me…my best friend, but I'm not sure I can do this. Not even with you."

He took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Tesoro, it is…cute that you place so much importance on this little act. But, I assure you, that for me, it will hold no special place in my memory." He chuckled. "It is not such a big deal."

"But I've only ever…" she sighed, "…with Alistair. And he only with me…until tonight.

"And now, he is unable to perform," he observed curtly.

"What if I can't…what if this only makes things worse?" She paused and glanced at Alistair's silhouette standing outside Morrigan's tent. "He's urging me, Zev. He's telling me to go with you."

Zevran left his seat on the log and crouched in front of her. He gripped her shoulders. "Listen to me. Do you want to die? Look at him. He needs you to do this. We all need you to do this."

"What if it doesn't work? What if—"

He shook his head. "As Alistair explained, when the two of you are connected, you feel what he feels, right? Then, this is no different from battle. This is about preserving life. This is not about intimacy, it's not about _feelings_. This is your mission. This is what you have to do."

"And what about you, Zevran?" she said softly. "Is this not like working for the Crows again? Being ordered to give of yourself?"

He smirked. "This is entirely different. I choose to do this. For you, for Alistair." He stood and pulled her up with him. "Trust me. You will not be disappointed."

She swallowed and nodded. "Let's go then." She took one more look at Alistair. _I'll be thinking of you always, my love._

_And I you_, he replied, slipping back into Morrigan's tent.

Zevran placed a hand on the small of Sarah's back and led her to his tent. She sat on top of his bed as he tied the tent flap securely in place. He lit a few candles that sat atop a small trunk, giving some extra light to the tent, but not much. Without speaking he removed his drakeskin armor gracefully and stacked it neatly in a corner. She pulled her knees up to her chest and watched him as he moved silently through the tent.

He looked at her and she could barely make out the comforting smile he offered her. "Tesoro, why don't you get under the covers and undress? I need a minute to prepare."

"Do I have to get undressed? Completely?"

Zevran turned away from her and began pulling some bottles of solvents and herbs from a small pack. "It will make things easier…for both of us." He smiled to himself. "And more fun."

"Zev," she whispered, as if trying to lecture him, but quickly losing the strength to do so. She slipped under the covers, watching Zevran as she removed all of her clothing, from her top shirt, to her under things. She stacked them in a small pile by the pillows and pulled the covers tightly around her. She only thought of Alistair. With Morrigan. Doing the same thing, and she shuddered. "What are you preparing, Zev?"

He mixed a few herbs and two green-colored solutions together, stirring them in a small flask. With his back still turned, he sighed. "Well, the whole point of this little ritual is for Alistair and Morrigan to make a child, is it not?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"But, I do not think that the same should happen with you and me," he announced, finally turning around.

"Oh. Right. I didn't even think of it…" she admitted, pulling the covers closer to her chin.

He took a few steps forward and knelt beside her. "Here, drink this. It will prevent anything from…uh…taking hold."

She reached for the flask with one hand, and with the other hand , she held the blankets to her chest, as she sat up. She smiled, "Zev, this isn't another one of your mystery potions, is it? Am I going to be dead by morning?"

He chuckled and stood up. "No, I'm through with trying to kill any Grey Wardens. It seems to be an impossible task to complete." Then, almost before Sarah lifted the flask to her lips, Zevran had stripped completely and was standing above her. She downed the sweet-tasting elixir quickly, and instantly blushed. She laid back down and pulled the covers over her head.

He chuckled. "Yes, I know, it's quite an amazing sight to behold."

"Oh, Maker…" she whispered, trying to sound annoyed.

"I imagine you'll be saying that a few times before I'm finished," he hissed, kneeling beside her. He reached for the covers, and pulled them away from her face. "Are you ready?"

She closed her eyes. _Alistair?_

_Let's go._

She nodded. Slowly, he pulled the blankets away, and her hands gripped the thin sheets beneath her. She was breathing heavily, not from expectation, but from fear.

_Be brave, my love._ She released her hold on the sheets and looked up at Zevran. He braced his hands beside her shoulders and hovered above her.

She watched him, her eyes wide. She reached for his shoulder with one hand, and touched him lightly. Her fingers were trembling.

"Close your eyes, and I will take care of the rest," he whispered, leaning closer. She obeyed and squeezed her eyelids shut just as his lips met hers.

* * *

Morrigan's hands began their roaming dance once more, wandering down his chest, and lower, her soft fingers and sharp nails flirting with his loins, attempting to invite some sort of reaction. Alistair laid motionless, his eyes closed, his thoughts traveling to Sarah. He felt her fear, briefly, and then she relaxed, giving into a calm comfort. Alistair sighed beneath Morrigan's hovering body. The witch's lips began to trace her hands' pathways, moving along his chest, down his torso.

Eyes still closed, he flinched and started taking quicker breaths. The spark of longing, of physical need, sent his body into motion. The necessary veins and organs began their preparations, funneling his energy and blood to the most sensitive of limbs.

Morrigan's grasp on him tightened, she was relieved to see something take hold, though she knew she was not the cause of it. He groaned beneath her, his head twitching from side to side, his mouth opening slightly to accommodate his rapid breathing and his need to vocalize his body's reactions.

Then, without notice, his hands leaped to Morrigan's waist, just as she was about to bring them together.

"Alistair?" she questioned, convinced he was going to leave the tent in a panic. But no, instead he picked her up and turned her over. His hands spanned her shoulders. Gently, but quickly, he slid his knees between her legs.

"Hands," he rasped. "Hold me," he begged. Then, he slipped into her. She followed his lead, though she knew little about his obsession for hands, she moved her arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer.

"Yes," he whispered, a relieved smile spreading across his face. He began his gentle thrusting, matching the sensations that were flooding his mind.

* * *

Zevran's touch was softer than she expected. His hands were smooth and quick, following the contours of her body, massaging her muscles with his fingertips. His knees and legs straddled her hips, his hands caressed her body, his lips and tongue crept into her mouth. He did so much at once that she had to stop thinking. She couldn't keep track of where each part of him was wandering. It wasn't long before she felt the pang in her middle, before her back arched pressing her breasts and stomach against his torso.

She released a tiny moan, all that she dared to say. He pulled his lips away and smiled down at her. "Is your templar ready?" he asked quietly.

She nodded and latched her hands around his upper arms. He moved slowly; carefully, prodding her legs apart. She turned her head to the side, and for a brief moment marveled at how _this_, with _Zevran_, felt _good_. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing her heels into his hips to force him closer.

And still, he was so calm above her, as if this were nothing, as if he didn't feel the insatiable pleas that plagued her own body. He began the gentle motion, ignoring her insistence that he move faster. He seemed convinced to move in slow motion, to just meander near desire but never succumbing to it.

She tightened her grip. "Zev, please," she begged. The sound of his name seemed to propel him, he moved slightly faster, his face was less controlled and more desperate. She was breaking the rules. She was thinking of Zevran and not Alistair. She pulled herself up to kiss him again, shifting her hips as she did so, interrupting his rhythm. He growled, and pushed harder, forcing her to lay back down.

* * *

It took much less time that Morrigan had anticipated, and she had to force herself not to laugh. Alistair rolled over and landed alongside some discarded clothing. "Is that enough?" he whispered, "or do you need to…"

Morrigan shook her head. "No, Alistair that is fine. It will suffice."

He scrambled to find his clothing and barely pulled on his pants before leaping out of the tent. His senses were still swirling, but he refused to stay in there with her. He needed to get out. He needed reassurance. He walked back to the campfire, pulling on his shirt and searching the darkness for Sarah. He couldn't see her, though the campfire was still blazing. He rubbed the back of his head. At some point, she had left him, and he was forced to carry on without her, and he did, to some semblance of success, he supposed. But now he needed to see her, to hold her.

He spun around. She was still in the tent. With Zevran. Alistair backed away, his feet stumbling over each other. He heard the blankets shuffling, heavy breathing. He continued scrambling backwards, his eyes locked onto the tent as he moved away from it. The sounds grew louder. He heard voices mingling in the air. Angry and frightened, all at once. he took another step back. His body was shook uncontrollably, and he was on the verge of tears. His hands reached behind him, searching for a tree or rock to brace himself against, but he couldn't take his eyes off the shifting tent. He didn't expect it to end like this. He didn't expect to have to witness anything. He had been a fool. How could he have asked her to do this?

He stumbled backwards once more, and tripped against something soft and sturdy. Suddenly, arms wrapped around his waist and someone pressed against his back. He spun around to find Sarah's sobbing frame clutching him desperately. She squeezed his shirt in her hands and buried her face in his chest. He released a long, slow breath, relaxing into her embrace.

_I couldn't, Alistair,_ she cried into his shirt._ I couldn't do it. I had to leave. He-he--._

Alistair gripped her shoulders gently and pulled her away so he could see her face. _Did he hurt you?_

She shook her head._ No. No. I-I-I liked it. Too much. I couldn't do that to you…_ She buried her face in his arm, sobbing, full of guilt, feeling like a failure. _I ran away from him. I was almost…there…and it was too much, Alistair. The guilt…it was too much._

Alistair sank to his knees before her and pulled her against him, he pressed the side of his head against her stomach, his ear faintly sensing her heartbeat just above his hair. _How could I ever ask you to do that? I'm so sorry, my love. Please forgive me. _

She sank her hands into his shoulders, digging her fingertips into his shirt and pressing against his skin. She continued crying, he felt her stomach hitch beneath his cheek. Finally he stood up and pulled her against him, trying to stop her trembling sobs. _Of course I forgive you, Alistair. You saved my life. You saved everything._

He cradled her face and watched her eyes as they shone with such trust that he could not pull himself away from her tearful gaze. _No, you saved me. From everything._

_I'm sorry I left you_, she hiccupped. She shook her head. _And I left him, too. I just ran away from it all._

He smirked and eyed her closely. _You left him? You were in the middle of all that, and you left him?_

She nodded, her head turned to the side, staring at the ground. _I love you, Alistair. I am so sorry. I didn't think I would feel anything…and when I did it was too much._ She squeezed her arms around his waist, balling her hands into fists and boring them into his sides as she clung to him.

He held her close, unsure of what to say or think. There was no reason for her to ask him for forgiveness; it was he who had made the awful request, he who suggest she lay with another man. _Please my love, don't look away from me._

She finally lifted her head, meeting his eyes. He offered her a comforting, apologetic smile. She reached a hand up to cradle his cheek. _You aren't mad?_

He shook his head, still smiling. _I am the one who has done you wrong. I should not have been so…weak. _

A smirk slowly formed on her face. _Do you love me so much that even Morrigan can't excite you? She's gorgeous._

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "No woman could be more beautiful than you."

Her smirk faded and she closed her eyes. _Then…that makes it all the worse, doesn't it? That I was able to be with Zevran…so easily._

Alistair cradled the back of her head and took a deep breath. _It still didn't mean anything to you, did it?"_

_No, of course not._

He smiled broadly. _Good._

_How can you smile like that? After…I…_

_I'm just thinking of him, in that tent. The look he must have had on his face when you left him_. Alistair burst out laughing, unable to keep quiet at all.

She glared at him, confused and a little angry that he was taking this lightly. She unwrapped her arms from around his waist and took a step back. "Don't you dare ever ask me to do anything like that again. Ever."

Instantly he frowned and dropped his arms to his sides. "Never again. I promise," he whispered, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

She took a small step forward and slid her hand into his. "Let's go to bed, Ser Templar."

He offered her a surprised half smile. "You still want me? After what I asked of you? After everything?" he said quietly.

She wrapped her other hand around his forearm and met his eyes. "Always, Alistair. I will always want you." She began walking to their tent.

His half smile grew into a wide grin, and he followed her. Suddenly, he paused mid-stride. _Wait. If you're here, then who is in there with Zevran?_

_Leliana_, she said, pulling him alongside her.

_Leliana?_

_Yes…it is apparently…not their first time…together._

He rolled his eyes and sighed. _Maker, it's like an Orlesian stage comedy in this camp._

She dropped his hand and slid her arm around his waist. _And I'm afraid that you and I are its leading conspirators._

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. _I hope there's a happy ending_, he thought solemnly.

She leaned against him as they walked. _So do I, Alistair. So do I._


	104. The Last Night

_AN: Thanks for the really nice reviews I got for the last chapter. They meant a lot! I also have to thank Whiteshade24, who really helped this chapter along._ Also, I wrote this listening to the Swell Season's "In These Arms," and I highly recommend you find it somewhere and listen along as well.

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**Chapter 104  
The Last Night**

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Alistair was almost asleep beside her. He laid on his back, and she rested her head against his chest, draping one arm across his stomach. She held him close, as if trying to melt his skin against hers. She had lost so much, had been so alone when she met him, and now, he was the only constant in her life, the one solid thing she could cling to, day after day, the person she knew would be waiting with open arms every night.

They came from such different places, yet somehow had arrived here together. Unlike Alistair, Sarah used to have a family, a home, a place to belong. Then, in one night, it was all ripped from her hands, fell away from her fingers as she struggled to hold her grasp on something, anything. One by one, she had to leave them. First her nephew, then Ser Gilmore, her mother, her father. She was pulled away from everyone she'd ever known, to follow a man she only met briefly, to join an order of men she'd only ever read about. At every turn, she only wanted to throw herself onto the ground, curl into a ball and die, to join her family in the Fade. Instead of crumbling, though, she forced herself to become a soulless vessel of empty movements. Days of walking south, nights of making a fire and falling asleep as Duncan kept a vigilant watch over the camp. She skinned the hares Dog caught, washed dishes, mended her tattered clothes, sharpened her daggers, shined her mother's ancient armor to a dull luster.

Then she met _him_, so different from everyone else: without Duncan's sternness, without Jory's decorum, without Daveth's wandering eyes. Instead, he was all smiles and jokes and awkward conversation. From that moment, he became a welcomed distraction. He unwittingly brought her out of the darkness.

Now, now he was her world. The last bit of hope she found in the coming darkness, irrefutably, a part of her, the other half of her soul. She didn't know who she would be without him. Maybe an empty shell, maybe another corpse along the roadside. Or maybe something worse: a leader without feelings, a Warden without tact, a woman without mercy. But no. Without realizing it, he had reached deep inside of her and pulled out all the very best parts, filling her with such love that she no longer new herself without him. She willfully gave every part of herself to him, for she knew he would keep her safe, would treasure every part of her, no matter the burden or the cost.

She kissed his chest and rested her ear against his ribcage, listening to his heart as it drummed away, slow and steady, as persistent as his love. She reached her hand down to take his, moving carefully to keep from waking him.

Hours later, she was still clinging to him when he jerked awake, sweat-soaked and screaming. She released his hand and hugged his waist, pressing her check against his chest. _I'm here, my love. I'm here._

He took a few deep breaths and relaxed into her embrace, pulling her closer as he did so, and burying his face in her hair. _Please don't do anything foolish tomorrow. Please._

She laced her fingers through his hair and shook her head, pressing her nose into his shoulder. _I won't, my love._

His nightmare kept replaying through his mind, and though he tried to protect her from it, his emotions were too strong for him to hold anything back. _The archdemon ripped her from his grasp, pulling her away into a cloudy darkness. Alistair crawled along the ground; painfully and mortally wounded. He was __pleading with anyone who would listen, begging them to save her, beseeching the archdemon to bring her back. His longing was only met with silence. And, he was in the grips of loss, an unrelenting emptiness. His skin had been ripped open, his very insid__es were being pulled out and dragged away from him, little pieces of his flesh, guiding a trail away from his body, a trail that he could not follow._

He held back a sob, and she felt his stomach clench as his breath hitched. He pulled his head back to look at her, but not daring to push her away, even a little. He stared into her eyes, his own expression a strange mixture of desire, fear, and admonition. He rubbed his thumb along her cheek, keeping his fingers tangled in her hair. _This time tomorrow, I__ want you right back here, in my arms. Always. Always._

She nodded, blinking back tears, refusing to let herself cry, on this, of all nights. She summoned all her willpower to return his wavering solemnity with a reassuring strength. _There's no where __I'd rather be._

She pulled on his hip, forcing him to turn onto his side. She slipped her arms further around him, her fingers gripping his shoulder blades. He clenched his arms around her back, pressing their bodies together in a move that was not an attempt to be erotic, but instead a silent, yearning desperation.

Then, in the tense stillness, a feral, bloodcurdling roar descended upon the them, as the tainted god swooped across the land, its wall-sized wings beating overhead. The Wardens sensed him, watching, waiting. Then, as if to say he would return for his prizes when all else was done, he darted away, into the clouds, and prepared for his onslaught.

The wind the archdemon left in its wake shook their tent, and a chill overtook them. Their bodies shivered together beneath the thin and worn out covers. Their married thoughts were empty as they struggled to keep the fear from overtaking them.

There was nothing else to say, or think, or do. Only wait. For first light. For morning. For hope.


	105. Armor Proof

_AN: As always, thanks to Whiteshade24 for being the bestest beta ever!_

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**Chapter 105  
Armor Proof**

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* * *

**

"I can't find it!" she shouted frantically as she moved around in the tent. She shoved her hand into the pocket of her armor once more and came up empty. "I can't find it!"

Alistair finished snapping his boots into place and reached for his bracers. "What is it? Did you lose your sword? Your dagger?" he asked.

She shook her head and covered her face. "My rose," she said quietly. "I've lost it."

Alistair wanted to laugh and cry at his fellow Warden, who was in hysterics over a dead flower. He rose and took her hand, pulling her against him. He hugged her tightly and she wrapped her arms around his shirt-clad waist.

_Don't worry, my love. I'll get you another one, if it means that much to you._

She looked up at him, and he tried to offer her a comforting smile, but his brow was furrowed and his eyes worried.

_Promise?_ She asked.

He nodded. _Of course._

_I haven't been to battle without it, not since you gave it to me._ She pressed her face into his chest and took a deep breath.

He ran his fingers through her hair. _I'll be with you the whole time. You don't need a rose to remind you of that._

She nodded and sniffed, leaving some wet tears on his shirt. She turned from him and quickly pulled on each piece of her armor. She slipped them on, like pulling on second skin. The pieces fit her better than any other armor she'd ever worn. How Wade had crafted salvaged drake scales into such functional and beautiful armor, she would never know. She traced some of the scales with her finger, noting how they fit together so well, yet were not so stiff as to limit her movement much more than flexible leather armor.

Alistair paused, watching her as she dressed, noticing how her demeanor changed as each piece of metal was added to her body. She stood taller, stronger, more resolute. Each time she blinked her eyes, her face grew sterner, her mouth thinner. When she pulled on her gloves and turned to face him, he instinctively wanted to bow his head in reverence to his general, his young Grey Warden, his future queen. Instead, he finished dressing quickly, pulling on the cleaned and shined Armor of Diligence, imagining that its perfect fit were her hands cradling him, for she had designed and planned this armor especially for his body. He wore it with pride, not as a lover, but as a warrior, a future king being led into battle, striding alongside Ferelden's savior.

He stood up straight and pulled on his gloves, glancing at her as she sheathed her sharpened blades. With a brief nod, she slipped past him and out of the tent, the padded scales shifting silently as she left to greet her army.

* * *

Zevran's armor was soaked in blood, some if it drying and caking against the drakeskin. He took out yet another vial of poison and coated his blades, eyes scanning the horizon for another ambush, bracing for yet another wave of rancid darkspawn. Sarah stood next to him, panting, eyes closed, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. Alistair eyed Morrigan, who was above the others, standing atop a pile of rubble and casting over the now-dead squad of darkspawn.

Zevran shivered as Morrigan's magic took the dying life force of the beasts and fed it into her comrades' weary bodies. Sarah's breathing slowed and she gradually opened her eyes. She swiped at her face with her glove, trying to get rid of some of the blood that decorated her cheeks. But the movement was in vain, for it seemed every inch of her was cloaked in the vile liquid, the tainted darkspawn blood.

Alistair took a deep breath and resituated Duncan's shield in his arm. "That's the last of them. The generals are dead."

Zevran breathed some relief. He reached into his armor and removed a thin, clean cloth. He handed it to Sarah and she smiled gratefully, wiping her face until the red of her cheeks peaked through the dark-colored blood.

Sarah walked forward, checking with the Dwarven lieutenant and ordering him to hold the gates. He saluted quickly. She led them across the bridge, further south, weaving through the corpses, mostly darkspawn, thankfully. Zevran followed her closely, his eyes and ears repeatedly searching for another attack, though he knew the Wardens would sense anything before he did. Morrigan followed the elf, recounting spells in her mind, though she did not doubt her ability to face what was to come. Alistair brought up the rear, his shield and blade still glistening in the afternoon sunlight. He listened to her as she planned. Again, as if she were ticking off items on a shopping list.

_Ten Dales in the Alienage. Dwarves in the marketplace. Some of Eamon's knights and the rest of the Dales in the palace district._ Suddenly she stopped walking and stared at the cobbled street beneath her.

Zevran flanked her, blades drawn and poised for battle. "More darkspawn?" he whispered.

She shook her head and looked in the distance, towards the towering Fort Drakon. "Riordan." She paused and took a deep breath. "He's gone. And the archdemon still lives." She continued walking, and resumed her checklist.

_We'll need help getting into the Fort, though without the generals, the darkspawn will be easy to corral. Alistair, call for reinforcements._

_Yes._ He reached to his hip and withdrew the horn, sounding the alarm. Within minutes, Greagoir and his men tramped behind them, their loud, heavy armor swelling into a chorus of intimidating thunder. Sarah spun around, surprised to find that but nine of them were behind her.

_Is that enough?_ She thought frantically.

_Yes,_ Alistair explained. _Emissaries crowd the entrance to Drakon, but the grunts will be dealt with easily._

_You can sense the emissaries?_

_Just like you can sense the cloaked rogues. Must be our training._

"What are we up against?" Zevran asked quickly, frustrated that plans were taking place without his input.

"Emissaries," Sarah answered, "and more grunts. Watch out for spell traps," she said darkly. She took a deep breath and whispered. "Don't leave my side, Zev, and I'll make sure we get through this."

She felt guilty for asking him to go with her, to be the fourth in the little party fighting the archdemon. Morrigan and Alistair readily volunteered, for obvious reasons, and without thinking, Sarah asked Zev to come as well, for his skills were the perfect complement to the other three. But now, as the final confrontation drew nearer, she couldn't help feeling that she had really asked Zevran to lay down his life.

To her surprise, he chuckled at her order. "You don't have to tell me twice…or even once in some cases." He walked alongside her, his bent elbow resting against her hip. "I'm glad you asked me to come with you. If I can get you through this, then I will feel that I've…done some good…"

Sarah nodded before he could finish his thought. Like Sten, Zevran sought his own redemption, and perhaps saving two Grey Wardens _could_ make up for killing his lover, for betraying his first true friend.

Alistair looked on as Zevran inched closer to Sarah, but she shared her thoughts with him so that he would not worry. Finally Alistair understood. _I get it now. You are his second chance. His hope, his chance to be something better, someone better._

_And here I am marching him to his death._

Just then, a deafening screech erupted from the tower. Sarah spied a shadow falling before the sunlight.

"He's wounded!" she shouted. She quickened her pace, not daring to walk too fast given the heavy-plated Templars in her retinue.

Maybe they would make it. Just maybe.

* * *

Zevran spun on the blood-soaked ground, slicing his blades through the air and plunging them expertly into the darkspawn around him. He glanced behind him, certain that he would find Sarah following him up the steps, but she was not. He looked anxiously for Alistair, who was battling another alpha a few feet away.

Then, he heard her screams, as did Alistair. Instantly they both ran to the noise, weapons upraised, Alistair releasing a fearsome war cry as his feet pounded the ground.

She was surrounded by four emissaries who were casting incessantly, blood pouring from their fingers, emitting red sparks into her body. Alistair dropped his shield and threw out as many cleansing spells he could muster, but the blood magic was too strong. Beside him, Zevran shouted ugly words in Antivan before disappearing into the air. Alistair taunted the fiends, trying to distract them from their target.

Suddenly, the emissaries squealed in pain. Alistair picked up his shield and gripped his sword, motionless, bracing for an ambush. Then, one by one, the beasts fell, their bodies writhing on the ground, blood pouring from every orifice. Then, Sarah leaped from the circle of now-dead emissaries. She jumped across their corpses, running to Alistair.

Zevran reappeared, crouching close to the ground, he had not even reached the emissaries before they began toppling over.

_Are you all right? What did you do?_

In response, Sarah shook her head, trying to indicate that there was no time to answer. Alistair instantly thought she was injured. He grabbed her shoulders and looked her over, running his hands along her armor and skin to look for injuries. Then he saw it. Her face covered in blood, not darkspawn blood, but her own. It dripped from her eyes like gushing tears, draining off her chin and onto her chest.

Zevran looked on in horror. He saw blood seeping out from her gloves and soaking her blades, seeming to boil as it drained out of her body.

Sarah took quick, shaky breaths, her shoulders rising and falling as she calmed her body. Slowly the blood stopped, and she stood up straight, glancing from one set of frightened eyes to the other.

_"_Blood magic," she explained.

_I've never seen blood magic like that? What did they do to you? Where are you injured? Take a bandage!_ Alistair thought frantically.

She shook her head. "No, it was me. Blood magic, from Avernus, from the tower."

_You drank it?! Blood magic!? Look what it's done to you!_ Alistair's eyes widened as he traced the streams of blood along her face and her hands. He almost felt sick. She was out of his reach, had almost died, and yet she was only standing before him because of the results from a twisted experiment conducted at the hands of a demented maleficar.

"It just saved my life," she retorted, ever so slightly shifting her weight forward to lean towards him. He met her eyes, which had thankfully faded back to the white and green he treasured. He wanted to hold her close and keep her shielded from any other attacks. But there was no time for that. No time for anything but more fighting. Without another thought, she ran for the steps, and he trailed after her, quickly followed by Zevran. Morrigan joined them atop the stairs, and Sarah shoved the heavy door open, giving one last look at fighting Templars, who were easily decimating the numerous but mindless darkspawn below.

* * *

"Alistair, call the knights," she ordered.

He complied, pulling the horn from his hip and signaling Eamon's soldiers to join them atop Fort Drakon.

She pointed to each area of the rooftop. "We're going to make for the ballistae," she explained. She turned to face them. "We stay together. All four of us. Leave the darkspawn to the soldiers. Killing the archdemon is our only goal." Her jaw was set, her face stern once again, her eyes shining through the dirt and blood covering her face. She tried to look determined, unfeeling, but Alistair heard her hesitation as she turned around to face the giant dragon. _They're all going to die, protecting us. How can I do that to them? They have families, children…_

Alistair felt her guilt, her worry, and tried to calm her. _We're saving their families from the same fate. We have to kill the archdemon. The sooner that's over, the less bloodshed there will be. Your plan is perfect, Warden. Let's see this through. To the end._

Sarah felt Alistair's resolve seep into her limbs, coating her like steel. She nodded imperceptibly and began her approach. There were no more orders to give. They had planned their strategy as they ascended the stairs of the fort. She and Zevran would do most of the head on fighting, trusting their armor to protect them from the archdemon's blue flames. Alistair was given strict orders not to die, though, as usual, he was to distract the enemy while the rogues slashed away underneath. Morrigan was to use her powerful control of the elements to cool and heal them as needed. Though the witch was not as an affective healer as Wynne, she could turn many forms of energy into a rejuvenating life force. Sarah also quietly told Morrigan that keeping Alistair alive was more important than anything else.

"He is our king, Morrigan. If it comes down to it, he must survive, no matter what."

Morrigan nodded, and her yellow eyes seemed to soften somewhat as she replied, "I will do my best to follow your orders." She paused. "But once it is slain. I will disappear. Forever."

Without meeting her eyes again, Sarah whispered. "Then, thank you, Morrigan. For everything. And…take care of yourself."

"I always have."

Now, the moment had come. The plan worked well. The soldiers tarried away, quelling the darkspawn advances well away from the Wardens. The ballistae worked easily, and quickly shot the giant arrows into the archdemon's scaly skin. Its wings were of little use to him, so he was not able to move a great distance. Eventually, though, the effects of the ballistae arrows lessened, and Sarah decided it was time for the real fighting to begin.

She led the charge, the fear from the morning dissipating with her thirst for slaughter. Her feet barely hit the stone beneath her as she sprinted forward, blades upraised, sweat clinging to every inch of her skin. The moment had come, the dreaded confrontation was but a few feet away. And she was ready, more ready for this than any other moment in her life. For months she had honed her skills, refined her technique, her methods were perfect, her weapons were simply extensions of her hands. She thought of only bloodlust, only carnage.

Morrigan began casting instantly, snow showers poured onto the beast. Sarah and Zevran ducked under it, stabbing their blades into the under-flesh, maneuvering around the scales, slicing poisoned metal into the skin of the seething archdemon. Yes, it was an old god, but this body was mortal.

Alistair's barbaric voice rang out, shouting to the archdemon. Sarah was filled with pride. As she moved quickly, she thought herself as part of the elite order of Wardens, fighting alongside her brethren, continuing a long tradition of bravery and courage.

Then, the demon began swinging its tail, began throwing flames. Soon, the air was filled with smoke and fire. Sarah coughed incessantly, her eyes stung and she could barely see. She channeled to Alistair, who was outside the heat that was encircling her and Zevran, to see what was happening to him. He was still shouting, still wielding his shield and sword with the same fervor. Zevran choked somewhere next to her, but he was still moving, his nimble feet following the lead of his pricked ears.

Suddenly, Sarah felt an overwhelming heat, as if she were standing naked in the flames. Then, Alistair appeared next to her, his shining armor nearly melting from the heat.

"Alistair, get out of here!" she shouted.

"I won't leave you unprotected!" He began slicing overhead, his broad strokes doing little more than simply annoying the archdemon. The foul beast lifted off the ground and spun to face the warrior. Then, it lifted one giant hand and sank its talons into Alistair's breastplate, which had been softened by the heat. Sarah looked on in horror as the Armor of Diligence was ripped away from her lover's body, the silver metal flying through the air in tiny shreds.

"Alistair!" she screamed. Her ears rang at the sound of her own voice. Her stomach churned. She felt like her heart had stopped beating and she sank to her knees. "Alistair, my love," she whimpered.

But the god wasn't done yet. He swung around once more, whipping his spiked tail around. Before Alistair could move, the archdemon slammed its tail into the templar, tossing the unclad body to the side, where it landed on the stone, motionless.

Tears ripped down Sarah's face as she finally rose to her feet. Blood collided with the salty water and she summoned her own tainted blood once more. She was filled with something akin to Oghren's beserker rage, and she ran headlong at the demon, slamming her blades into its backside. She leaped onto its tail as it whipped from side to side. She climbed its back, her weapons repeatedly stabbing through the scales. It tried to shake her off, but she refused to be stopped. Finally, she reached its head, and she stabbed furiously, blindly, over and over again. Then, she felt him collapse beneath her as the poison and boiling blood coursed through its body. She jumped off the beast and landed on her feet. Then, with one final plunge, she sank her sword into its flesh.

There was a sudden flash of light as she fell backwards. Her head slammed against the stone rooftop. She saw black and remembered nothing more.


	106. Death's Kiss

**Chapter 106  
Death's Kiss**

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* * *

  
**

They were waiting for the breakdown, but she simply stared at the body, eyes blinking, face expressionless. Leliana gripped her hand tightly and Teagan held his arm around her shoulders.

Wynne casted again. An elven servant handed the mage a flask of lyrium. Wynne shook her head. "I can do nothing more." She turned to face Sarah. "I'm sorry, dear."

Sarah nodded. "So, that's it then?" she commented evenly.

Wynne nodded, not daring to meet the probing green eyes staring back at her. "We wait."

Leliana gripped her friend's forearm. "His wounds have healed well. That is something, surely. He just needs his rest."

Without turning her head, Sarah watched Alistair's body. His stomach rose and fell evenly, almost imperceptibly. Empty vials and flasks decorated the table beside the bed, remnants of Wynne's failed efforts to revive the would-be king. Someone had taken care to draw the covers up to his chin. Sarah only saw the outline of his limbs under the blankets and his head as it rested atop the pillows. His face was relaxed, almost serene. She knew better than to hope. There was a void in the air only she could sense. The constant tingling in the back of her mind, the pressing convulsion of the taint was gone. "It was a tragic blow," her monotonous voice explained. "We will wait and make preparations."

She turned to the servant. "Please, what is your name?"

The servant curtsied, "Maggie, my lady."

"Maggie, I shall need a secretary for the day. Would you be able to assist me, or can you find someone who is?"

She curtsied again. "I am at your disposal, my lady."

"Thank you. Will you gather the supplies necessary for sending messages, as well as line up some messengers to be dispatched through the city?"

"Yes, my lady."

"And, Maggie, it's either Warden or Sarah, not 'my lady.'"

"Y-y-yes, of course, Warden. I'm sorry." She scurried out of the room.

Sarah slipped from Teagan's embrace and Leliana's hand. She led them into the hallway of the king's palace, one of the few buildings in the city left untouched by the darkspawn. She turned to face them, her jaw set, her eyes unmoving. They all watched her closely, certain she would collapse at any moment.

Wynne placed a light hand on her shoulder. "Do you want to get some rest, dear?"

"No." Sarah said. "I just woke up, and there is much to be done. My injuries from yesterday's battle were not severe. I am fine."

* * *

She sent out many letters. One to Goldanna. One to each of the nobility who sided with her at the Landsmeet. One to each the Dwarves, the Dalish, and the Circle. She and Maggie forewent lunch and supper. Sarah seemed to have no appetite and Maggie would not leave her side. Soon, the sunlight faded and dusk seeped into the study. She had finished dictating the last of her letters when Fergus found her. She fervently ordered Maggie away and refused to look at her brother as he approached.

"Sister!" he exclaimed, running up to her. She rose from her seat at the desk, and he hugged her tightly. She returned his affection with a small squeeze around his shoulders and nothing more. He took a step back. "I am sorry about Alistair. I hear it does not look good," he said quietly.

She shuffled the papers on the desk and sat down without meeting his gaze. "We were lucky, Fergus. I imagine it will not be long now before it is over."

Fergus squatted next to her and clutched her hand. "You mean, you have no hope? Is it really that definite?"

"It was a tragic blow," she repeated.

"Well…you are taking it quite well, sister," he murmured.

"I did not expect both of us to live," she lied, her voice even. She took a deep breath, but her voice was emotionless. "My only regret is that it is the king and not me who is dying."

"Sister…" he whispered.

"No, Fergus," she said, finally turning to face him. Her eyes were cold, and though she met his gaze, he knew she was not looking at him. "Our nation is still divided, we need a ruler to unite us. And now, that ruler is Anora. This situation has left us with a lot to do."

"But, I'm afraid I must—"

"Yes, Fergus," she interrupted. "You must get to Highever. The Banns and Arls are without a teryn. I'm sure the influx of refugees will require organization and supplies. They will need you."

"Yes," he agreed. "I must go home." He paused. "But what shall you do?"

"I will stay here for now. I must prepare a funeral."

"Surely, it is too soon for that…"

She shook her head. "I loved him Fergus, but I know he is gone. Our king is dead."

He knew there was no talking to her. He rose. "You will send word, though, if anything should change?"

She nodded. "May the Maker watch over you, Fergus."

* * *

Sarah was certain Eamon was plotting. He refused to release Anora from the Tower. He signed at least two policies in Sarah's presence, carefully keeping them from her view as she waited to speak with him.

Finally, she grew tired of waiting and approached his desk. Regent or not, she had just saved the country. "We must plan a funeral Eamon. I want you to spare no expense. He was our king and he deserves every honor."

Eamon was taken aback. He had not heard Alistair had passed. "What is this, Sarah? Do you mean to say that he really has gone?"

She crossed her arms. Why was everyone questioning her? Did they not trust her to know this? "Very nearly," she spat. "It will not be long now."

Eamon rose from his seat and walked around his desk to stand before her. "But Wynne told me we would know nothing for a few days," he countered.

Could Eamon not leave this one decision to her, and her alone? "I was there, Eamon. I saw the armor torn away from his body. I saw the archdemon's tail rip through his skin."

Suddenly, Eamon had his arms wrapped around her. He cradled her head in his hand and pressed her face into his shoulder. "My child," he said softly, in a voice that reminded her of her father.

She tried to pull away, but the old man's hold on her was strong.

"My dear, child," he repeated. "Do not give up on him so easily."

Then, to Sarah's surprise, she flung her arms around Eamon as the tears began to cascade from her eyes. "He's gone, Eamon. I dare not hope anymore."

He chuckled briefly. "You? Lose hope? No, my child, not you."

"I'm not brave enough to hope any more."

Gradually, he released her from his hold and gripped her shoulders. "And where would I be, were you not brave enough to trek into the mountains, chasing a myth? Where would I be were my dear Isolde not hoping beyond all hope that I might be revived?"

"I have cashed in all the miracles I dare to ask for," she said softly.

Eamon turned her away from the desk and put his arm around her shoulders, leading her out of the study. "I cannot believe, at the end of all things, that it will be as dark as you fear," he said quietly.

She sniffed and swallowed shakily. "Then, what should I do? Wait? For how long?"

He stopped, and turned her to face him. "How long would he wait for you?"

She nodded and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I think I understand." She took a few steps forward. "I must go, Eamon," she whispered. "I-I-I want to be with him."

He bowed. "As you should."

* * *

She wandered back to the room, her arms shaking, her chest heaving. She doubted that she could hold it together long enough to close the door. But she made it. She shut the door quietly behind her, and locked it securely. Then it happened.

She ran to the bedside and collapsed to her knees. The tears began to fall in an endless stream. She pressed her face into the mattress, she squeezed his limp hand as her body convulsed with painful sobs. And then she wailed. Her voice filled the empty, lifeless room, it echoed back to her ears and she only screamed louder. She felt as if her middle were being ripped to shreds. And she begged with him, in whimpering syllables that would make no sense to anyone who heard them

_Alistair! I need you! My love! Come back to me! Don't leave me! Please! Come back! Don't leave me alone! _

Her chest ached mercilessly. She dropped his hand and ripped at her shirt, her hands desperately trying to cling to something tangible, something real. She clutched her hands over her heart, feeling it beat rapidly against her ribs.

"ALISTAIR!" she wailed, over and over again, as if repetition would lessen her pain.

And the tears kept coming, sprouting from some endless fountain inside of her. Her sleeves and collar were soaked, her fingertips wrinkled from wiping at her cheeks. She did not know how long she sat there, crumpled on the floor, next to the bed. At some point, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her and lift her onto the bed. Dexterous hands pulled the covers around her. She mindlessly reached for Alistair's arm and hugged it against her chest.

"I'm keeping my promise, Ser Templar," she whispered. "Come back to me."

And, then, so faintly she was sure she imagined it, a tiny voice tickled the back of her mind, _I will, my love._

She buried her face into his lifeless shoulder, certain he would be dead by morning.


	107. Her Memory

**Chapter 107  
Her Memory**

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**

A glimmer of morning light peaked in through the window. The room itself was beautiful. Walls clad with purple and white draperies, cherry wood furniture polished to perfection, a wardrobe filled with fine and colorful garments, a gorgeous, massive bed. And this was not even the king's quarters, it was only an ambassador's guest room.

But Sarah did not notice any of this. She woke up, dressed in the mismatched clothes she was wearing the day before, her sleeves and shirt collar stiff from her dried tears. She sat up slowly, her eyes glued to Alistair's body. He was still breathing, faintly, like a tiny, breathless child trying to catch up to his older sibling. She leaned back against the headboard, trying again to swallow the omnipresent lump in her throat.

Another day, and he was still alive.

She tentatively reached her left hand to touch his cheek. His beard was growing in, this was as thick as she'd ever seen it. Even in the Deep Roads he'd shaved at least every two days. _How long has it been now?_ she wondered. She hadn't left the room since the first night, had refused food and company. All she could bring herself to do was wander around the room, watching him, making sure each breath was answered by another.

And she was reminded of all the times he must have watched her approaching the brink of death. Surely it had not been this painful for him, too. Had Alistair felt like this when she collapsed on the road, the poisoned darkspawn blade hanging from her stomach? She remembered that he had paced around her bed at the campsite, had refused to leave her side for days after that. But he was not in love with her then. No, their attachment had not reached the great heights it was sitting at now. She gripped his hand once more, relishing in its warmth; there was still some life in his body. She vowed to herself to take care of what was left of Alistair, so that when the time came, his body would be ready, either to sit on the throne, or lay atop a stack of burning wooden planks, as was the custom for mourning the king in Ferelden.

Without much more thought, Sarah left for the washroom and returned with a bowl of warm, soapy water and a soft cloth. She pulled the covers away from the body, and began washing it methodically. Face, arms, torso. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his chest against her so she could clean his back. She continued downwards, pulling off his pants and washing each part of him. Then, she wandered back to the washroom and found his razor. She carried it back to the room, and, her hands trembling, she began to shave away his beard. She cut him a few times, and each tiny spring of blood made her gasp and delight, for as his face peaked through the bristle, he looked more alive, and she dared to hope a little more. That done, she ambled over to the wardrobe and pulled out a blue nobleman's outfit. She dressed him easily, one piece of clothing at a time. Once she was finished, she took a step back and scrutinized her handiwork. She chuckled darkly when she realized she had neglected to comb his hair, so she went back to the washroom and found his comb and proceeded to style his hair. Now, he looked like a sleeping Alistair.

Suddenly, all of those senseless, protective actions Alistair had subjected her to in the past months seemed logical. She understood why he sidled next to her in battle, why he checked her weapons more often than he checked his own. Why, after they had taken on Zevran, even while they were not speaking to each other because of his drunken kiss, that Alistair kept his eyes trained on the assassin, sword at the ready. Why he held her so tightly after she had been captured, whispering apologies in her ear. Why in the Dead Trenches he kept his hand on her at all times. In this moment, she only wanted to wrap her arms around him and squeeze life into his body. She wanted to rest her cheek against his, cradle his head in her hands, order him to wake up.

She approached the bed again, pulling up his shirt to remind herself of his injuries. Healed scars decorated his chest and stomach. One wedge-shaped red mark spanned across his torso, a lasting imprint of the archdemon's massive tail. She stared at it as the memories of the final battle came flooding back to her mind. How stupid he was to do that! How pointless! Could he not just listen to her for once?! And now, here he was, dying because he had tried to be heroic, had tried attaching himself to her even in the midst of battle, even as her plan was working wonderfully. He had to run in and ruin everything.

She ran her hand along his chest and finally pulled the shirt back down. Then she cried, yet again. Quiet sobs shook her shoulders as she leaned over him. Instinctively, she scooped her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek against his chest. She remembered his touch, his gentle way of holding her close, his hands' soft caresses along her body, his fingers floating through her hair. Slowly, she sank to the floor again, succumbing to the painful howls of her grief.

* * *

Zevran paced outside the room, listening carefully for her sobs. When she was again rendered unawares by her tears, he sneaked into the room once more. He poured the sleeping potion into her mouth and laid her on the bed. Just as she had the nights before, she squirmed over to Alistair's arm and hugged it tightly. Wordlessly, the Antivan left the room, swiping away the single tear that had slipped from his eye.


	108. Moving On

_AN: I have rewritten this chapter about 15 times. It's been everything; from dramatic and grotesque, to weird and senseless. I've subjected my beta to too many drafts. I just wrote this one. To keep my sanity, I'm publishing it now before I can change my mind again. So, apologies if you think it's crap, and please feel free to let loose the in the comments section to tell me so._

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Chapter 108  
Moving On

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"AHHH! Sarah! Where are you!?" The voice rumbled out of him like lava erupting from a long-dormant volcano. "SARAH!"

Instantly, he felt hands roaming over his body. "Alistair! You're awake!" She ran into the washroom and returned within seconds. She scooped him up in her arms. "Drink some water, Alistair." She lifted a glass to his lips and he drank quickly. She laid him back down. "More?"

He nodded. She ran away again and returned with more water. He drank just as quickly. "Another?" she asked.

He shook his head and took a deep breath. She set the glass on the table and brushed back his hair. "How do you feel? Are you in pain?"

"I'm fine," he answered weakly. "What's happened?"

She gripped one of his hands and continued brushing back his hair. "You've been unconscious for days, Alistair." She swallowed thickly and tears began to fall from her eyes. "I thought you were gone," she whispered.

He slowly reached a hand to her face, running his thumb along her cheek. "How long? How long have I been asleep?"

She shook her head and closed her eyes. She held her hand against his cheek. "I don't know…I've lost count." She hiccuped and took a deep breath. "Are you sure you're all right? No pain at all? Can you sit up?"

He pressed his hands into the mattress on either side of him. He winced a little, but raised up enough to lean against the headboard.

"Where does it hurt? Your chest?"

He reached out for her hand again. She gripped his fingers tightly. "My back," he answered.

"That's right…"

"What happened?"

"You took a really bad hit, Alistair. You—the archdemon flung you across the rooftop…" She took a deep breath. "I thought you were gone…forever." She choked on her tears, unable to hold them back.

He dropped her hand and wrapped his arms around her pulling her against his chest. She instinctively climbed onto the bed next to him and pressed her ear against his heart.

He fingered her hair. "I'm here, my love. I'm so sorry." He looked down to find her staring back up at him.

"I was so scared," she continued. "I felt like—"

He gazed into her eyes. With his forefinger he traced a tear down her cheek. "Like an empty shell. Like part of you was dead," he supplied.

"Yes," she cried. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her cheek against his. "I can't believe you're alive," she breathed.

He pressed his hands into her back. "I'm here. I'm alive."

"How did you wake up?" she whispered in his ear.

_I heard you. Every night. At first it sounded like a whisper, and then, it kept getting louder. I don't know where I was, I couldn't see. I just followed the sound of your voice, hoping it would keep calling out to me_.

She clamped her hand on the back of his head. He leaned against her shoulders and held her tighter. _I've been a wreck, Alistair. All this time, you've just been lying there, lifeless. I screamed your name more times than I can count_. She shivered against him and her shoulders shook as she began crying again. She could not bring herself to believe he was holding her again, that he was alive. Eventually, she leaned back and met his eyes again. She gripped his upper arms and squeezed them tightly. _Alistair, if you ever something that foolish again, I will kill you myself!_

_I was only trying to save you, _he explained. He buried his fingers in her hair at the base of her neck. _I've felt that emptiness before, twice. Once when you were injured in that ambush, and again when Loghain captured you. I couldn't bear to go through that again. I needed to be next you_.

She loosened her grip on his arms. She shook her head. _There's no way you have felt like that, Alistair. It's too painful…it hurts more than any injury I've ever had. It hurt__s__ more, even, than when I left my parents to die_.

_More than it hurt to lose Duncan_.

She blinked and met his eyes. _Duncan?_

Alistair reached his head forward and pressed his lips against hers. _You are such a part of me. Don't you get it? My life is yours. _

She returned his kiss before whispering again. "Every part of me is a part of you."

_Exactly_. He pressed his forehead against hers. _We have to stop doing this to each other_. He smiled. No _more near-death experiences, __my__ lady. Do you hear me?_

_No more needless heroics, Ser Templar._ She kissed him again briefly. "More water? Do you need more water?"

"Maybe a little," he answered honestly. She slowly withdrew her arms, and he leaned back.

She stepped off the bed and looked down at him, smiling for the first time in days. She shook her head. "You are going to be quite angry with me when you see your face, Ser Templar."

His hand shot up to his chin. "What do you mean?"

She flashed him the image of his face, which was covered in tiny little cuts. "I was never meant to be a barber, I suppose." With that, she scampered to the door and opened it slightly. She whispered something and shut the door again. She went to the washroom and refilled the glass. When she returned, Alistair had unbuttoned his shirt and was tracing the outlines of his scars across his torso. He looked up to meet her eyes.

_Wynne?_

She nodded. _She worked a miracle, Alistair. We don't know why you were still unconscious, for she healed all of your major injuries. Does it not hurt at all?_

He shook his head, mesmerized by the imprint on his skin. _We killed the archdemon and lived. _ He looked up again. _Morrigan?_

_She disappeared. No one has seen any trace of her._ She handed him the glass and he drank the water quickly.

_I can't believe we're both still alive_, he admitted. He found her left hand and stared at the ring. She had never taken it off. _I never thought we'd make it. And now…_ He lifted a hand to her cheek. _And now, we're going to be together forever. I've been dreaming of this day for __the longest time__. Being alone with you. No more darkspawn, no more archdemon. Just us_.

_We're not quite finished just yet_. She took the glass from him and set it on the table. _The Revered Mother has been on hand since the Blight was ended. Eamon's garrisoned the palace. The minstrels have written their songs for you_. She ran her fingers through his hair. _Are you ready for crown hair, Ser Templar?_

He reached for her other hand. _Do you think I'm ready?_

She nodded. _I always have_.


	109. Kingliness

**Chapter 109  
Kingliness

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**

She held his hand tightly and gripped his forearm. He scraped his fingers along his forehead and took a deep breath.

_So many people…_ He peeked through the crack in the door, staring at the rows of spectators who were chattering loudly. Everyone was dressed regally, the noblemen in their finest garb, the noblewomen clad in extravagant jewelry, hair-do's filled with flowers and curls. He spied the front of the room, where a small altar sat. It, too, was the pinnacle of refinement. Red and gold ribbons, the colors of Ferelden, were strung across the stage. Elegant tapestries spanned the walls. His eyes fell to the floor before the altar and followed the long, red, velvet carpet through the hall, back to the foyer in which he waited. He shook his head and sighed. Never in all his years did he think he would be here, of all places. He dropped his hand from his brow and shook his arm to the side. His own garments were the finest he'd ever worn. They were soft, and light, dyed a deep red. The cuffs and collar were trimmed with fine, gold thread. He began to sweat beneath his clothes and his breath quickened. He looked up from his feet and turned his head to the side.

The hero of Ferelden smiled back at him, her eyes shining with pride. She, too, was clad in a beautiful garment, a dress dyed a deep teal, trimmed in brown. She wore a simple gold chain with the symbol of Andraste hanging from one of its links. Around her head was tied a thin band to match her dress, a gift from him earlier that morning when she complained about her hair, yet again. In two more weeks, she would be his wife, he would be her husband, inseparable at last. But, until then, this was his journey to make alone. He suddenly wished to be sitting in an old tent, wearing dirty, worn clothing and enjoying some cheap wine with his fellow Grey Warden. Alas, those days were over, quickly becoming a distant memory. Now, the path before him was uncertain and frightening. His heart sped up as Regent Eamon stepped onto the stage. She dropped her hand from his and pressed it against his back.

_I'll be right behind you, Ser Templar._

Eamon nodded to revelers. They rose their horns to their lips, blasting a fanfare throughout the hall.

Eamon spread his hands wide. "Lords and Ladies of Ferelden—"

The porters swung the doors open, and her hand slipped away. He stared straight ahead, barely resisting every urge to turn and run the other way.

"—I present to you Alistair, brother of King Cailin, son of King Maric!"

And before he could realize it, his feet were moving beneath him. Two castle guards flanked him on either side. He walked over the red carpet, through the throngs of onlookers, arriving more quickly than he expected at the front of the hall. He sank to his knee and bowed his head. The distant words of the Revered Mother floated over his head, and in another instant he was back on his feet, staring into a sea of smiling faces and applauding hands. Then, the sound faded, the Revered Mother and Eamon left the stage, and he was alone.

He felt the crown slipping off his head, but he quickly pushed it back into place. He took a deep breath.

"Lords and ladies, I stand humbled before you today, proudly taking up the banner of this glorious nation. In the past months we have suffered many trials and hardships, but, like true Fereledens, we have emerged victorious. I have no doubt that in the coming months we will restore prosperity and security to our lands and hope to our people. However, we cannot let this day pass without acknowledging the sacrifices of those individuals who made our victory possible." He turned to the left, facing his companions, those who dedicated themselves so long ago to following the Grey Wardens into a Blight. He called them to the stage, one by one, handing each one a bronze medal imprinted with the king's seal.

Then, he smiled. He grinned uncontrollably. He was so elated that he could barely stand still. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce my betrothed, soon to be your queen, the only Grey Warden to slay the archdemon and live." He held out his hand as she approached, her dress flowed around her legs as her feet stepped lightly along the carpet. He felt a tear creeping its way into the corner of his eye, but he blinked once and it was gone. His betrothed. His queen. He still couldn't believe it.

And then, her hand was pressed into his hand, her fingers laced around his fingers. The nobles rose to their feet, applauding the new king, applauding their savior.

* * *

She clung nervously to the wine glass in her hand. She continued watching the dancers swirling around her, waiting anxiously for him to arrive. He had slipped out of her arms just after the dancing began and would only say that he'd return shortly.

Zevran approached her, smirking. He removed the glass from her hand and set it on a nearby tray. He bowed regally. "Might I have this dance, your ladyship?"

She blushed and shook her head. "Zev, don't call me that."

He chuckled and slipped his hands lightly around her waist. She laid her wrists on his shoulders.

"Well," he began, this fortress had many design problems, Tesoro. Why, in this very room, I can count at least ten ways an assassin could sneak his way in."

"And you're no doubt keeping an eye on each."

"Of course!"

"So…Zev…what are you plans now? The Blight is over, your oath is fulfilled."

"Well, I thought I might travel for a bit, to see what freedom is really like."

"Oh," she paused, again scanning the room for the missing king. "Well, if you ever find yourself in need of a place to stay, you'll always be welcome with us. Either here in the court, or with the Wardens, if you'd like."

"Hmm…while that is probably a very nice offer to you Fereldens, I think that I shall move on. I want to see what else awaits me."

"As you wish," she said softly, looking down. "Well, thanks for everything, Zev. If you can, do keep in touch. You'll always know where to find me. I'll be sure of it."

"It's been my pleasure," he crooned.

"A-hem, excuse me."

She looked up to find the king, eyebrows raised, tapping on the Antivan's shoulder. Zevran chuckled and removed his hands from her waist. He nodded to each of them in turn. "Until the next Blight, my Grey Wardens. Try not to get into too much trouble while I'm away."

Sarah watched her friend slip away, disappearing into the crowd. She wondered if she'd ever see him again. Alistair slipped his arm around her waist. She swallowed thickly and brushed away the few tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. She turned to face him.

"So, Ser Templar, where did you run off to, abandoning your queen in her hour of need?"

He smiled sheepishly and reached into his pants pocket. "Keeping a promise," he explained, withdrawing his hand.

"Oh, Alistair," she breathed. "Where did you find it? A rose, this time of the year…"

He unwrapped his other arm from her waist and proceeded to pin the flower to her dress. "I stole it from the chantry," he admitted. "They always keep roses on hand, year round. It's symbolic of eternal love or something or other," he smiled.

She rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. "Eternal love? Why, what a radical idea!"

"Isn't it?" he mused, pressing his forehead against hers. He rested his hands on her hips, enjoying the feel of her dress against her skin. "So, my lady," he whispered, "how long is the king expected to stay at these things before he retires for the evening?"

"The king," she replied, "Can do whatever he wants."

He raised one eyebrow. "That so?"

She nodded, "Yep."

Then, in one quick, movement, she found her feet swept off the floor. Ignoring the questioning faces around her, she giggled and buried her face in his shoulder. She knew that Eamon would no doubt give them a lecture in the morning, but she didn't care.

And neither did Alistair, apparently. He quickly became lost in the palace and instead of asking for directions, he found the nearest bedchamber, which happened to belong to the Duke and Duchess Whatley from the Bannorn. He flung her onto the bed and sprinted quickly to the door, locking it and wedging a heavy table against it. She sat on the bed giggling with delight, feeling like a complete fool, but not worrying about it a bit.

He sauntered up to the bed and wrapped his arm around one of the posts. She leaned against the headboard, one leg bent, the other lying straight in front of her. She met his eyes, and he smiled back at her.

"Sarah Cousland, I love you so much! Do you know that? Do you have any idea how much?"

She shook her head. "Nope, I'm sorry. I've no idea how much you love me."

He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.

_Why don't you get down here and show me, my king?_ _Then maybe I'll start to understand._

In seconds, he was with her on the bed, his hands beneath her dress, slinking along her legs.

"One kingly demonstration coming up!" he announced.

She giggled and sighed contentedly. The rest of their lives, indeed.


	110. Epilogue: Yesterdays and Tomorrows

**Chapter 110**  
**Epilogue: Yesterdays and Tomorrows**

* * *

Sarah stared at the headless mannequins before her. More than ever she wished for guidance from a friend, wished for one friend in particular, but Leliana had disappeared. Well, disappeared was not entirely correct. She hadn't disappeared like Zevran, slipping away without any indication of where she was going. No, Leliana went north, to Highever, in fact. She claimed she had never seen the northern sea and wanted to be there when spring arrived. When Sarah asked the bard why she wasn't staying with Zevran, Leliana chuckled lightly, explaining that she and Zev weren't _together_ like that, they just _came together_ when the time suited them. When Sarah stopped blushing, Leliana placed a hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. Sarah encouraged her to find Fergus, for he would no doubt welcome Sarah's friends into the castle. Leliana said she would indeed seek out the Teryn, and Sarah saw the hint of pink touch her friend's face, and she wondered what all had happened when Alistair had been unconscious and she had been too grief-stricken to speak to anyone, aside from begging Zevran to put her to sleep.

And the others were gone as well. Like Zev, Ogrhen was traveling. Sten began the long trek back to his homeland, with a pack full of cookies. Shayle, oddly accompanied by Wynne, went in search of her family history, supposedly to bring honor to her ancestors. Then, there was Morrigan, a woman Sarah had never been particularly close to, yet a woman whose dark magic had made this new life possible. Sarah blinked back tears as she imagined what the world would be like without Alistair in it. The thought scared her more than any darkspawn raid, or any dress fitting.

Sarah shook her head and sighed, pushing away her unpleasant memories so that she was able to face the task before her. Three long, white dresses draped over the mannequins. She balled her hand into a fist and placed it under her chin, trying to summon the same energetic concentration she mustered in battle, the same astute attention to detail. But she was at a loss. Each garment looked the same as the next, tiny gems embroidered along the chests and collars, lace flowing to and from everywhere, and Maker, the necklines drooped so low that she even wondered if she could put any of them on and still be considered a lady. At this point, at least she only had to choose from three. When Isolde had arrived at the palace, her personal tailor in tow, Sarah instantly panicked. For hours the beautiful Orlesian laid designs out before her, describing in detail each dress's embellishments. By tea time, it was all Sarah could do to keep from screaming and running out of the room. Instead, she placed a hand on Isolde's shoulder and gave her a wide smile, "My dear Isolde, you are have such good taste that I will trust in whatever decision you make." It worked, and Isolde was soon leaving the study in a flurry making for the fabric room, the tailor trailing behind her. Before anyone else could stop her, Sarah grabbed her weapons from the officer's armory and sprinted out of the palace gates, through the bustling streets of Denerim, and to the Grey Warden stronghold, the Amaranthine.

She had left the other wedding plans to Alistair's discretion. She thought it would be a wonderful opportunity for him to practice decision-making and she hated the thought of discussing flower arrangements and guest lists.

She stared at the dresses once more. Maybe she could run away. Yes, that would be ideal. Run off to the Brecilian Forest, find the Dalish, and have the Keeper marry them instead. Much less ceremony. Much less lace.

Suddenly, the door behind her opened, interrupting her thoughts. Lunchtime at the palace. She didn't turn around, instead, she waited patiently as he approached behind her. He wrapped his hands around her waist and rested his head atop hers. All of her anxiety melted away as he held her close. Poor Alistair had to be king, and here she was in conniption over a dress.

"I see you've had almost as an exciting morning as me," he commented.

"I love you, Alistair," she replied, her only surety in a life that seemed to be changing rapidly. She turned around to face him, and his hands rested on her hips.

She tried to appear happy, but something in her face must have betrayed her true feelings, because Alistair lifted his hand to brush her hair away from her eyes and said, "You know, if it were up to me you could just wear your armor and forget about bejeweled wedding gowns."

At that, she smiled and narrowed her eyes. "That's because you're hoping that whatever I'm wearing won't be on me for very long."

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "You're hoping the exact same thing, my love."

"I know," she giggled pressing her forehead against his shoulder. She rested it there for a moment before pulling back and taking his hand, leading him to a nearby table were two cheese sandwiches awaited them. "So how go things in court, your majesty?" she asked as he stuffed a sandwich into his mouth.

"Uneventful," he answered, still chewing. He took a drink of water and swallowed quickly. "All the nobility are at home rebuilding and organizing. I get the occasional request for funds, but nothing major." He took another bite and continued talking. "I spent most of the morning listening to Eamon ramble on about security and negotiations with Orlais."

"With Orlais?" she asked.

"Mmm-hmm. He says you and I should take a trip there soon after the wedding." He swallowed the last of his sandwich and reached for an apple. "He won't say it, but I think he's anxious for you to become queen. He keeps bringing up things and muttering 'but that will have to wait until later.'"

Sarah found his hand atop the table and took it into hers. "Does that bother you? You're the king, Alistair, you should make the decisions. I-I-I just want to be your wife and Warden Commander. You don't need me up there on the throne beside you. You're quite capable."

He set down his apple and met her eyes. "It doesn't bother me that Eamon values your guidance," he smiled. "Maker knows that I do. If it were up to me, I'd be with you every minute of the day, you know that. I'd love for you to spend all your time sitting next to me, us making decisions _together_, as we've been doing since we met." His eyes seemed to glisten a little, and he took a deep breath. "But it is most important to me that you're happy. I know that you've just barely finished cleaning out the Amaranthine and that recruits are flooding the gates, waiting for your approval. You can be queen and Warden Commander, that's fine with me. You can split your time between the two…if you want." He lifted his empty hand to her cheek. "I'll do whatever is asked of me, so long as at the end of the day, I'm with you."

She smiled and leaned across the table to kiss him. She leaned back and stared at her empty plate. "I'm not sure I can do it, Alistair." She paused and hid her hands under the table, linking them together. "The Joining, I mean. To have to watch anyone go through that again. And what if…" she looked up to meet his concerned eyes. "What if some of them should try to run away? I'll have to kill them, just like Duncan did with Jory." She looked down again and shook her head. "I don't think I can do that."

"I won't let anyone run away," he said somberly.

She looked up. "You mean, you'll be with me?"

His eyes widened and he smiled. "Of course! I'm still a Grey Warden, after all. I'll always be tainted, no crown or lineage could change that."

"Maybe it won't be so bad, then."

"No, I'm sure you'll do fine."

She sighed and gripped the edge of the table with both hands. "It's one more week until the wedding, Alistair."

"Yep! I can't wait!"

"And Eamon said we can't share a room until then, for propriety's sake…."

"Yes, but you've done quite well sneaking into my quarters these past seven nights…" he wasn't sure what she was getting at.

"And the servants are starting to talk…they recognize me now, so even when I go below stairs, they know exactly what I'm up to."

"Oh…"

She ran her fingers along the table's edge. "I mean, it's only a week, right? We'll still have supper, and the evenings, and breakfast."

"I suppose…"

She found his hand again. "We have to keep up appearances, Alistair. Not only do we have to keep our morals intact, but it's only going to be so long before they start asking about an heir…the longer we can avoid that conversation the better." She rested her elbow on the table and ran her fingers along her brow. "Eamon hasn't told them anything, and I don't think he will. Even so, we only have about 28 years left to get things into place. And we're both so young—There will be a lot of expectations, and we'll have to deal with them very carefully."

"But a whole week?"

She smiled shyly, "Ser Templar, you were abstinent for 22 years before I came along, I think you can manage seven days."

His eyes softened, and he moved from his seat. She suddenly found herself enveloped in his gentle embrace. "I just want to be with you as much as possible," he whispered in her ear. "I have trouble imagining myself alone…without you."

She stroked his hair gently. _We can still talk Alistair, if we work at it_.

He buried his nose in her hair. The connection had been fading since his coronation, and though they could sometimes share their thoughts for brief moments, it was nothing like what it used to be. She found his lips and kissed him softly.

"You better get back to Eamon, my love. I'll see you at supper."

"And what will you be doing?" he asked pressing his forehead against hers.

"At the Amaranthine, holding try-outs. I suppose I'll let those who pass take up quarters at the estate. And we'll have the Joining a few days after the wedding."

"Why wait?"

"I don't want blood on my hands when I become your wife," she whispered. "I want one happy week where I don't have to kill anybody," she chuckled.

"Very well, my love." He stood back and took both her hands. "I'll see you at supper." His hands slipped out of hers. He walked to the doorway and glanced at her one last time. _The one in the middle is my favorite. It has a nice drawstring in the back that's very workable._

_Alistair—_

He bowed and left the room. _Of course, it's entirely up to you._


End file.
